


Someone You Love(d)

by AttackoftheDarkCurses



Series: Attack's Trope-y HEAs [15]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: "Hate" sex, Alderaanian Hair Braiding, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Ben has a good relationship with his family, Chekhov's love letter, Doting Grandmothers, F/M, HEA, Hair Braiding, Idiots in Love, Matchmaking, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, No Pregnancy, Only One Bed, Oral Sex, Prince Ben Solo, Repairing the Falcon, Rey of Jakku, Rivals With Benefits, Roommates, Royalty, Smut, Spending the Holidays on Alderaan, no force, no palpatine, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackoftheDarkCurses/pseuds/AttackoftheDarkCurses
Summary: “You know I hate you, right? You know that I hate all your stupid little games and I think you’re a laser-brain and I hate that GCU assigned us to the same apartment, and if I could go back in time and choose to never meet you, I would?”“The feeling’s mutual. Do you want to do this, or not?”“Fine," Rey snaps. "But don’t kiss me.”Ben looks down at her mouth and lies again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Attack's Trope-y HEAs [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567354
Comments: 1018
Kudos: 2097
Collections: Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Daisyflo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daisyflo/gifts).



> This is mostly written and uh, maybe angstier than my usual.
> 
> For Daisyflo--I can't thank you enough for all the sprinting and all the enabling. It's been _amazing_ getting to know you, and I'm so glad you're part of the server ❤️
> 
> This is a (loose) interpretation of this prompt: "Normally Ben chooses to avoid his family, but when he finds out his roommate, Rey, will be alone for the holidays, he insists she come home with him. Han and Leia are both thrilled to see him, and they dote on Rey. Grandmas Breha and Padme get to matchmaking."

It starts the way things with Rey always start—with her not bothering to knock on the door of his bedroom before she bursts in. 

“Thank Ri’ia you’re home, you _ass,”_ she sneers. “Do you have any idea what happened to my plants?” She folds her arms over her chest, taps her foot. “The ones off the balcony?” She pauses just long enough to let out an angry huff, shoving a lock of hair that’s come loose from her usual buns back behind one ear. Even while furious, she’s beautiful. Even if it’s a terrifying beauty. “Kriff, Ben, I finally got those plants to grow.” She starts to pace across his bedroom floor, muttering, “What I wouldn’t give for a nice blaster, or—”

Interrupting is decidedly unwise, but Ben can’t hold back his laugh. The truth is, this angry, pissed off venting is part of what he likes about her. She’s a much-needed break from his fellow Galactic Politics classmates—the ones that fall over themselves trying to be study-buddies with the Prince of Alderaan whose parents shipped him off to Greater Coruscant University, hoping he’d get _experience with the people,_ whatever that means. 

Having someone call him an ass is refreshing. Not that he’s ever actually told her that, but it’s possible he goes out of his way to cause this sort of reaction once in a while. Her being angry with him is at least better than her ignoring him.

She stills mid-pace to glare, which is pretty normal for them. Her glare intensifies the longer he grins.

There’s a slight chance he’s a masochist.

With a sigh, he puts his pen down so he can swivel his chair and face her fully. She’s lovely as usual in her odd non-Coruscanti fashion, with a dark tunic over plain pants, and arm wraps. He’s grown up attending social gatherings surrounded with _fine young women_ from all over the galaxy; ladies with the highest standards of fashion and beauty and grooming and all the silly little details someone of his standing gets used to, but none of that compares to Rey, the antagonistic, unfriendly, rude, and frankly messy roommate of his. It’s unbelievably frustrating.

So he does what he usually does, and pisses her off even more. It’s a little game they play. Sort of like foreplay. Rey ignores him for a few days, he does something to get her attention, and they do _this._

Though… it’s inevitable that she’ll go back to ignoring him.

He tries not to think about it, and crosses his arms, leans back in his chair, and hums. The research for his final paper on intergalactic trade agreements sits on his desk, long forgotten, as he says innocently, “You seem upset, sweetheart.”

“Kriff off,” she snaps. “What did you do with my plants? You know how long I’ve spent tending to them. I—I come home between classes to rotate them just so they get more light,” she says, voice cracking, “Please tell me you didn’t ruin them. Please.”

There’s genuine hurt lacing her voice, and a little twinge in his chest when he hears it. Ben winces. “No. No, I didn’t,” he mutters. “Do you really think I’d do that?” 

She makes a crude gesture. “Of course you would.”

And it hurts. It always hurts, knowing how little she thinks of him, but he thinks he probably did this to himself.

Ben works his mouth, then nods to his wardrobe. “Check the top shelf. They’re fine, I even checked to see if they needed water. It’s been less than an hour.”

“They need light,” she glowers, storming over to his wardrobe. She pulls the doors open and makes a soft, relieved noise when she sees the three little pots of succulents she recovered from one of the public gardens when it was being re-landscaped. There’s so little green to be found on the planet, even less so that’s natural, so Rey is fiercely protective of her plants.

When she reaches for them, she has to go up on her toes, and even then, she can barely reach. Ben’s eyes go wide as he watches her struggle and almost knock one down. It takes barely any thought to jump out of his desk chair and cross the floor so he can catch the first one before she drops it. He sets it gingerly on a lower shelf.

Without thinking, he catches _her_ , too, as she tries to reach for the second one and loses her balance. She’s warm against him. Warm, and _soft,_ in a way Rey likes to pretend she isn’t. With one arm around her waist, and her back pressed to his front, Ben stills. He holds her there, not saying a word as he slowly uses his free hand to reach the other plant pots, putting them next to the other one, where she’ll have no trouble reaching them.

It’s slow, the way his hand slides to her front and glides down her belly, stopping when it’s between her hips. Touching her is painfully familiar, and so is the way her breath catches. He turns his head, running his nose along the ridge of her ear. “My exams were early this term, so I’m leaving for break tomorrow,” he whispers. “Last chance for a month.”

For a moment, she doesn’t reply. He doesn’t push her for an answer. _Pushing_ would imply that he cares, and as she’s so clearly established, that’s not a thing they do. 

Her voice is thin and wavering when she says, “You know I hate you, right? You know that I hate all your stupid little games and I think you’re a laserbrain and I hate that GCU assigned us to the same apartment, and if I could go back in time and choose to never meet you, I would?”

Ben tries to shove down the rolling pain he always experiences when she makes her feelings clear, and plasters on a confident grin as he spins her around, pressing her back to the shelves behind her. He stares down into the hazel eyes he can’t get off his mind—not for a single second of a single day—and tries not to flinch as he tells the worst lie he’s ever told. 

“The feeling’s mutual.”

“Good,” she snaps.

He grits his teeth. “Do you want to do this, or not?” 

“Fine. But _don’t_ kiss me.”

He stares down at her mouth and lies again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

Four standard months have passed since the day Rey showed up with a small bag of belongings slung over one shoulder and nothing else, ready to move into the bedroom next to the one he’d claimed the day before.

She’s hated him for something like three and a half standard months—one hundred and twenty one days, as far as Ben can tell. In those one hundred and twenty one standard days, she’s let him touch her, let him fuck her, let him put his lips and tongue wherever he wants, with one very specific exception. 

He’s not allowed to kiss her mouth—hasn’t been allowed to, since that first night. 

His mind hones in on that, even as she’s wearing only her arm wraps and laid out under him, her eyes squeezing shut as she grips his shoulder with one hand and muffles the noises she makes with the other. She rarely allows this. Usually she’s facing away from him and he doesn’t have the chance to stare down at her.

It’s a rare opportunity to memorize the rosy color of her nipples, and the placement of the freckles sprinkled over her nose and chest.

Ben doesn’t do it deliberately, but he slows, working in and out of her with a careful rhythm. He lets go of her hip and skims his hand across her abdomen, then between her thighs. Mesmerized, he watches as her chest rises and falls more quickly as he swipes his thumb over her clit, side to side, then in light little circles, just the way he knows she likes.

And that’s the thing—he knows her. Knows her moods, knows her body, knows so much about her, and, at the same time, so little.

He knows that it makes her desperately sad to see parents playing with their children in the gardens, knows that she’s never let a scrap of food go to waste for the whole time they’ve lived together, knows that she sleeps with her knees pressed to her chest, curled in a tight ball.

He knows what it’s like to have her clenching around him, knows what it’s like to kiss the back of her shoulder when their naked bodies are pressed together, knows that, for the briefest moment after she comes, she loves being held until she remembers _he’s_ the one holding her… at which point she leaves his bed.

Rey’s hand leaves her mouth and grips frantically at his side, trying to get him to speed back up, but he doesn’t. He leans down, pressing their chests together, and presses his mouth to her shoulder. _This_ she allows. He kisses a trail across her collarbones, up her neck, along her jaw, and when he finds the spot, right at the side of her throat, and sucks, she pants, tugging at his hair. 

Her voice is breathy and desperate. “B—Ben, Ben, I need—” 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, because he _does_ know. He knows her, knows exactly what she needs. He slides his hand under her hips, tilting them at a different angle, and drives in deeply, as far as she can take him.

Rey’s mouth falls open, and her eyes close again as she nods. “Yeah, like that.”

It’s rare, getting to see her fall apart. Normally the most he sees is her shoulders shaking, or her curling in on herself, so as he watches her face screw up and then go slack when she cries out, Ben’s sure it’s the absolute peak of his existence. One of her hands clutches at his waist, tugging him close so she can mouth at his neck, and she shivers as he kisses the soft skin behind her ear. 

He wants to whisper words she doesn’t want to hear.

He wants to tell her how he feels about her, wants to admit these moments they share are the brightest spots in his life, wants to ask why, _why_ she hates him the way she does.

Instead, he bites down at the crook of her neck as he comes, feeling her squeeze around him with the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her breath against his shoulder comes out in a shudder. The hand tangled in his hair keeps his face pressed into her neck.

For at least a few minutes—shattering any previous record—they stay like that, with Rey cradling him between her thighs, and his cock slowly softening inside her. He shouldn’t press his luck, but it’s impossible not to press his lips to her skin. It’s impossible not to work up her throat, impossible not to brush along her jaw, but the moment their eyes meet, it’s like she can read his mind.

It’s like she knows how badly he wants to press his mouth to hers.

Some expression flickers over her face. Something maybe sad or uncomfortable, or maybe it’s just a grimace.

“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t ruin it.”

Ben’s not sure how just a few words can feel like a punch to the gut, but they do. 

His eyes drop back to her mouth, and he swallows. “Right.”

As the sweat on their skin dries, it’s clear how cold she is. She’s always cold. Her skin is covered with little goosebumps, her nipples are small and hard and pressing into him, and unless he’s imagining things, she’s shivering. Ben reaches over and grabs his blanket, trying to cover them without moving off her.

“I should get dressed,” she murmurs.

“You don’t need to. Give me a few minutes, we could go again… we won’t see each other for a whole month,” he points out. His eyes trace her face, noting the odd look she gives him, and her clear discomfort, which hurts. “Unless you’d prefer to leave,” he says softly.

Her jaw tightens. “I would prefer that. Get off me.”

Ben nods slowly, and rolls off her.

He knows so much about her, but when she pulls away, mutters a “Thanks,” and leaves his bed, it feels a little like he doesn’t know her at all.

* * *

The next morning, Coruscant’s suns shine in through the crack in the blackout curtains that cover the windows in his room. Ben grimaces, then pulls his blankets up over his head. There’s little reason for him to wake early—his classes finished, his assignments are in, and short of packing, there’s not much to do.

At least he thinks that until he hears Rey moving around their little apartment. 

There isn’t much that would force him out of a warm bed after a stressful term, but the hope of talking with her is one of them. He doesn’t bother tugging on a sweater, and instead leaves his room wearing only soft gray sleep pants. 

Rey is in the kitchen, prepping a small serving of bread and some sort of soup; leftovers from yesterday. Her refusal to throw leftover food away is strange, but the last time he teased her for it, he wound up sorely regretting it. Now he doesn’t comment, and instead shuffles toward the caf distiller, getting a start on brewing his necessary morning boost.

Her soft humming silences the moment she notices him. It’s like he unintentionally sucks all of her happiness away, which is… awful. It’s awful, because he always wants to be around her, but he also wants her to be happy, and as he’s come to learn, those are mutually exclusive things.

Ben clears his throat. “I’m just getting caf. Should I make enough for you?”

“No,” she says in a small, possibly petulant voice. “Never got used to that stuff.” 

He’s heard her say that before, but it still strikes him as odd. She makes it sound as though she never heard of caf before starting at GCU, and that’s _strange,_ unless she was raised on Hoth or something, which is unlikely considering the way she shivers, even in their temperate apartment.

He fills the machine with enough water for a single serving, and glances over at her. She’s already dressed for the day in her tunic and arm wraps and seems to be in a rush, not even bothering to sit down to eat. It strikes him that he’s never once seen her without those wraps, and his mind wanders to questioning whether she’s got freckles under there, too.

Ben’s throat bobs as he watches her lean against the counter, sopping up soup with the bread. 

“Do you have plans for the break? Are you staying here, or—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts with her mouth full. 

He clicks a button on the caf distiller and folds his arms over his chest, turning to her. “Don’t what?”

Asking is self-inflicted torture; he already knows the answer to that question.

She swallows and narrows her eyes at him. “Don’t ask me that. That’s not a thing we do. You know this.”

The tired sigh that slips from his mouth is unavoidable. “Rey, that’s ridiculous. I’m not allowed to ask if you’re staying here? We’ve been fucking for an entire term, I think we can discuss our plans for break.”

Rey huffs, shoving the rest of the bread in her mouth. She turns her back to him, washing the now empty bowl and a matching spoon. He watches, feeling utterly helpless, while she scrubs, rinses, and dries them, then sets them on a shelf.

On her way past him, she mutters, “Well I’m not staying here.”

And that’s it. That’s all he gets.

For the second time in two days—and it’s been countless times in four standard months—Ben stares dumbly after her, wondering how it is that he can know her so well, and yet not even know which planet she calls home. 

* * *

After caf, a shower, and some packing, there’s a loud knocking that comes from something further away than his closed bedroom door. Ben checks the small antique mechanical clock, a gift from his mother that sits on his desk, and his brows raise when he realizes the knocking is probably intended for him _._

When he gets to the front door of the apartment and presses a button to open it up, Han Solo’s standing there in a loose white shirt, fitted pants, and usual jacket, a blaster slung from a holster at his hip. His mouth is tilted up on one side in a half-smile Ben’s a little reluctant to admit he inherited. 

“Hey, kid,” his dad nods, grin widening. “You ready? Your Uncle Chewie’s waiting.”

Briefly, they do that _thing_ where they awkwardly can’t decide if they should nod or hug or shake hands or something else—they’ve been doing this since Ben started at GCU three and a half standard years ago… or maybe since he passed his father in height. Either way, Han eventually rolls his eyes and pulls Ben into a hug. 

And for a moment, he’s a kid again. The same kid who used to fall asleep using his dad as a pillow, listening to stories that were just a little too detailed and crazy to be made-up. For a moment, everything miserable, all the stress and the hurt, dissipates. Ben tightens his arms around his dad, smiling as the man pats his back.

When he pulls away, his father mutters something about him being too tall, and then clears his throat. “So, you ready?”

“Let me get my bag,” Ben nods, gesturing for Han to step inside the apartment.

As he turns and walks to his room, he pauses outside Rey’s, and works his mouth as he wonders whether pissing her off is worth seeing her one more time before he leaves. It’s an easy decision.

He raps his knuckles on the door. “Rey? I’m leaving.”

Nothing.

She… really doesn’t want to say goodbye. It’ll be an entire _month,_ and she doesn’t want to say goodbye. He does, though.

He knocks again. “Rey? Can I come in?”

With a glance over at his now-curious father, who’s still standing by the entry, Ben hesitates, and then presses the button next to her door. It’s unlocked, and slides open to allow entry into a bare room he’s only seen once or twice. _Seen,_ not been in, because Rey is deeply private and has never allowed him in the room, never mind in her bed.

Nervously, he glances inside, ready to be yelled at. Somehow, what actually happens is worse.

A small bed sits in one corner, a makeshift desk is cluttered with various mechanical parts from something she’s repairing, and her three small potted plants sit by a window, soaking up light. She’s moved them from where they used to be, in the kitchen, and it looks like she’s put together a messy slow watering system with tubes and a large jug of water so the plants won’t die while she’s gone.

That’s when it hits him, that she’s gone. She already left.

Ben sighs, the numbness sinking in as he leaves her room and heads to his own, grabbing the packed bag that rests on his made bed. 

When he gets back into the hallway, his father’s giving him a strange look. “Everything okay, kid?”

There are a lot of downsides to being Han Solo’s son. There are plenty of bars he can’t show his face in just because his father killed a guy there, or he owes the owner a lot of credits. There are people who assume Ben’s a brilliant pilot because they believe flying skills are somehow genetic, though, actually he’s pretty decent with a ship. There are people who hear the name _Solo_ and try to be friendly, just to get a chance to meet _the_ Han Solo, the guy who did the Kessel Run in less than twelve— _not fourteen—_ parsecs. 

One of the upsides, though, is this. This thoughtful look his dad gives him, because somehow Han knows something’s upsetting him. He asks again, “Hey, what is it? What’s going on? Is it a girl? Or a guy?” He raises a brow. “A droid?”

“What? A _droid?”_

Han holds up his hands. “Hey, I don’t judge.”

Ben rolls his eyes and glances into Rey’s room. “Can you help me with some plants?”

“Some what?”

“My roommate left her plants here,” he explains. “She’s got a system set up to water them, but I want to take them home and keep an eye on them. Maybe put in better soil for her, too.”

Han huffs a laugh. “So it is a girl. Why didn’t you say something?” He shakes his head, smiling sympathetically. “I was wondering when this’d happen. Got a nice bottle of Corellian Whiskey ready.”

Ben frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” his father clarifies unhelpfully. He gestures toward Rey’s room. “You’re moping. It’s a woman, huh? You two break up?” 

“Ah. No, not exactly,” Ben mutters, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. “She… hates me.”

Han snorts, nodding. “Yeah, your mother hated me at first, too.” His eyes flick up, and soften. “You don’t hate her though, hm?”

It’s unintentionally tender when he replies, “No, I don’t.”

His father sighs out a long breath. “Well, let’s get those plants. There’s a ship and a bottle of whiskey waiting. We’ll pick up some lunch, get on course for Alderaan, and you can tell me and your Uncle Chewie all about her.”

Ben manages a half-smile. “Thanks, dad.”

* * *

It’s almost a full standard day’s trip to Alderaan, and naturally, his father spends the first hour bitching about how it’d be faster if they had the Falcon. The Class 2 Hyperdrive ship he’s flying now is a recent acquisition, so he and Chewie haven’t had time to modify the hyperdrive—something his father insists they don’t need to do since he’s gotten intel on where the Falcon might be. 

Ben slides into a seat at a mounted table, much like the holochess table on the Falcon, and leans back, folding his arms over his chest. They’re on course for home, and he can’t help but wonder if that means he’s getting closer to or further from wherever Rey is. 

He thinks of the plants, stored safely away on the ship, under an artificial light source.

He hopes she’s somewhere green.

A bottle clinks against the surface of the table in front of him. Ben’s attention snaps to the man who’s sat down across from him, and he watches as his father pours them two glasses of amber liquid.

“Don’t tell your mother,” Han mutters. “I know, I know, you’re an adult and you probably go out and drink on your own, but I don’t need to hear about how I’m being a bad influence.”

Ben’s mouth quirks. “Did she ever think you would be a _good_ influence?”

“Shut up and drink,” his dad laughs. “I’m sharing my good stuff, don’t get mouthy. Just tell me about this girl. What’d you say her name was?”

He sips at the glass, enjoying the slight burn in his throat. “Rey.”

“So, you going to tell me about her?”

For a moment, Ben watches the liquid in his glass as he swirls it around and thinks about what, exactly, he should say. There’s a lot he could say, and probably a lot he shouldn’t. At that thought, he takes in a breath, and lifts the glass back to his mouth, downing the rest in one go.

“Well, shit,” Han mutters. 

Ben winces, setting the glass down, and blurts, “I keep pissing her off because it’s the only way she’ll talk to me.”

His father is silent for a minute, and then follows Ben’s lead, drinking down his entire glass. Without a word, he pours them each another. Once he’s halfway through his second, Han sighs. “Okay. Connect a few dots for me, here. You like your roommate, yeah?”

“More like I’m crazy about her,” Ben says helplessly, over the rim of his glass.

Han whistles. “Okay, and you think she doesn’t like you?”

“She hates me.”

“You _think.”_

“Oh, no,” Ben says dryly, “She said it. She likes reminding me of it.”

“Ah.” His father hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “She say why? It have anything to do with whoever you’re… seeing?”

Ben pauses with the glass halfway to his mouth, and frowns. “What?”

Han snorts, gesturing to his neck. “Might want to tell whoever left that mark on you that they’re not subtle. Better make sure you’re careful with that or your mother’s going to have questions. So, like I said, connect the dots, I think I’m missing something. You’re… _with_ someone, but you like this girl, Rey?”

When he realizes the confusion, Ben lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you asking if Rey might claim she hates me because she’s jealous of whoever I’m… with?”

His father shrugs as he takes another drink. “Why not?”

“It’s not that,” Ben mutters, feeling a blush rising on his cheeks. “They’re the same person.” At his father’s confused expression, Ben sighs, finishes his drink, and gestures to the mark on his neck he must have not have spotted. “Rey’s the only person who could have left this. She and I are together sometimes, but she’s hated me almost since she moved in. I’ve tried apologizing, I’ve tried being friendly, tried talking to her, but she insists that I shouldn’t, because that will, apparently, _ruin it._ ”

When he glances up at his dad, Han’s just blinking. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, and frowns down at the empty glass in his hand. Finally, he says, “Huh. Not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t that.” He sets the glass down, crosses his arms, and leans back in his chair. “You tell her how you feel?”

Ben shakes his head.

“You should. You’re not going to get anywhere with it unless you tell her.” Han sighs, shaking his head a little, and then shrugs. “Might not go the way you want, but it definitely won’t go the way you want if you never tell her.”

Ben’s not sure whether to laugh, or groan, but he settles for making some odd noise that’s a mix of the two. “She barely speaks to me long enough to… well. She doesn’t really talk to me.”

His father nods to the bag Ben brought, the one that’s on the floor by his seat. “You still write, don’t you? Write her something.”

It’s not a big secret that, of the two of his parents, Ben’s father is the sap. He’s the one who brings home flowers and little gifts for Ben’s mother whenever he goes off-world. He’s the one who always happens to put on holovids with happy romantic endings, so his suggestion probably shouldn’t surprise Ben.

Still, Ben can’t help but ask, a little dumbly, “Are you suggesting I write her a love letter?”

Han shrugs again. “You got a better idea?”

Oddly, he doesn’t.

* * *

It takes him three more hours to finally sit down in a more secluded spot with a piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a pen. Perhaps it’s dramatic to write her something in calligraphy, but the odds that he’ll actually give it to her are slim, anyway.

With the blank parchment in front of him, it takes forever to decide what to write.

He starts with _Dear Rey,_ and then stops, unsure of how to continue.

Ben’s eyes trace over the curves of the letters, and then finally, he touches pen to paper again. He takes in a shaky breath as he writes the most honest words he can think of.

_If you’ll only ever hate me, I can accept that, even it it hurts. But I don’t think I could ever hate you. I know I’ve said it, but not once have I meant it._

_I’d do anything to kiss you again._

_I think I love you._

_Yours,_

_Ben_

Just as he finishes his name, his father pokes his head around a corner and says, “There you are! That intel I got was right.”

“Intel?” Ben asks, glancing up.

“The Falcon,” his father grins. “We found her. She’s on Jakku, in the Western Reaches. Junkyard of place, but we tracked her to Niima Outpost. You want to go get her? I already let your mom know we’d be taking a detour.”

Slowly, Ben matches his father’s grin. “Do I get to fly her?”

Han laughs. “One thing at a time. Let’s go get my ship.”

Ben looks down at the parchment in his hands. He blows on the ink to dry it, then carefully folds it up and puts his tools back in his bag. With a sigh, he nods. 

Briefly, he wonders if a little adventure on Jakku is just what he needs to get her off his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	2. Chapter 2

Night is starting to fall on the desert, putting Rey in more of a rush than she might be normally. She’s grown used to avoiding traveling through certain parts of Coruscant in the dark, and while it presents different threats, Jakku at night is arguably just as dangerous, if not more so.

Rey grits her teeth, digging her nails into her palm to stop herself from shoving her staff in Plutt’s direction. 

“That’s not  _ fair,” _ she shouts, gesturing toward the spare parts, sniped off the ship she stowed away on that got her here from Coruscant. “These are worth at least a quarter portion each, never mind the other parts. Look at them! They’re in excellent condition!”

Plutt slaps a half portion for the whole haul down on the counter. “Take it or go.”

Her stomach rumbles right on cue, reminding her how foolish it was to come back here at all, especially without raiding one of the University’s dining halls first. Not that she’d have been able to carry much with her—someone on the transport ship would have noticed her if she’d brought a bag of food and supplies.

It strikes her, as she huffs and snatches the half portion, that she has no plan for getting back to Coruscant. Normally during term breaks such as these, she’s been able to scrounge up credits while working at a bar or diner when she’s not in class so she can simply pay for passage on and off Jakku—if she returned at all—but this term has been a nightmarish combination of a heavy course load and few work hours.

Rey storms off toward a speeder, heading back to her AT-AT, and she reminds herself  _ why _ she came back.

This is her last year at GCU.  _ This _ is her last term break, and very soon, she’ll need to make an important decision: return to Jakku, or use her newly acquired scholarship-funded technical knowledge to…  _ do _ something. Something that doesn’t involve scavenging just so she’ll have food to eat.

In short, it’s hardly a decision at all, so she needed to come back one more time.

She needed to say goodbye.

Mid-step, she changes her mind about the parts and whips around, rushing back to the counter. She pounds her fist down on the surface. “ _ No. _ Stop trying to cheat me,” she hisses, grabbing back the parts she can reach, the ones he hasn’t put away yet. “You’ve been cheating me for years, and these are worth more!”

Someone behind her speaks up. It’s an unfamiliar voice, and the man barks, “Plutt! Who’d you steal my ship off, you slimy piece of—”

“Excuse you!” Rey blurts incredulously, looking over her shoulder at the man. He’s taller, with greying hair and a pilot’s jacket that’s nicer than she’d usually see around Niima Outpost. “I was in the middle of yelling at him, wait your turn, nerfherder.”

The man shuts up, his attention redirected at her. He gives her the smallest and most oddly familiar half-smile, and huffs. “Well, don’t let me interrupt, kid,” he snorts. “I’ll just sit here and wait. You seem like you’ve got this handled.”

Rey rolls her eyes, turning back to Plutt. Just as she’s about to start demanding the portions she deserves, she hears the man behind her call out to someone.

“Yeah, Chewie, just get her started and start looking around! Can’t have her making the jump to lightspeed before I see if Unkar screwed around and modified something.”

Under her breath, she says, “You can bet he did.”

“You say something, kid?”

She looks back at the man and sighs. “Which one is yours? Plutt’s not going to tell you what he did, but I can help, I know his methods. I’ll trade you for spare parts, or maybe a ride off this planet, if you’re willing.”

It’s subtle, but he tilts his head curiously, as if he’s inspecting her, or deciding on her offer. After a moment, he nods at what she would kindly refer to as a hunk of garbage.  _ Kriff. _

“Ah. That one,” she winces. “He’s had it for a while. Stole it off the Irving Boys, who stole it off Ducain.”

“Who stole it from me,” he mutters. “Bunch of idiots.”

He approaches the counter, ducking his head into Unkar’s little storage area, where Unkar is probably hiding away and hoping they leave. The man slams his hand down on the surface and shouts, “Unkar! You gonna try and tell me you didn’t recognize the  _ Millennium Falcon? _ You knew that was my ship, you bastard! Now come out here and tell me what you did to her!”

When she tries to say something, all that comes out is an unfortunate strangled noise. Slowly, she glances over at the man, giving him a once over. It  _ can’t _ be.

He meets her gaze, frowning. “What?” he asks gruffly, “Something wrong?”

“That hunk of garbage is the Millennium Falcon?” she asks, her voice full of disbelief. “Does that make you Han Solo?”

His lip curls as he replies, “It might. Did you just call my ship  _ garbage?” _

“I  _ do _ have eyes.”

Rey almost claps a hand over her mouth as she remembers she’s talking to  _ Han Solo, _ and insulting the ship that did the Kessel Run in fourteen parsecs. As expected, Han glowers at her. For a moment, they’re caught in an awkward staring contest, with Han seeming pissed and Rey just trying to figure out what it is about him that’s so strangely familiar. She might have heard stories, but she’s never met the man, so there’s no reason why she should know those eyes or that jawline or the odd way he has of talking with a bravado Rey doesn’t quite believe.

So  _ why _ is he so familiar?

A deep, surprised voice interrupts her thoughts, answering that question. It’s a voice she dreams about, one that’s soft and wraps around her heart whether she wants it to or not.

_ “Rey?” _

Both she and Han turn to the source of the voice, and she sees her roommate, wearing dark fitted trousers and heavy boots, and a loose black sweater. His raven hair falls in waves, framing his face.

In the worst way, he’s a sight for sore eyes. He’s also the last person she ever wanted to have see her  _ here _ . Her mouth opens to say something, but it’s like her brain short-circuits. In a whisper, she works out the only thing she can think to say. 

_ “Ben? _ What… why…”

It’s slow, and starts quietly, but the man next to her begins to laugh. Han turns to her, eyebrow raised. “Waaaaait a second.  _ You’re _ Rey?” The grin that grows across his face is only mildly concerning. “Oh, this is great.” He claps a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you said you’d help fix whatever Unkar did to my ship, right?”

While staring at Ben, she nods numbly.

“And you still want a ride off this planet, right?” Han prods. “You okay to leave tonight? If we help get your stuff?”

It’s much earlier than planned. She expected to be here for a whole month, though just the reminder of what scavenging on a desert planet and dealing with Unkar is like drives in the fact that…

Well, she’s kriffing  _ done _ with desert planets. If she never sees one again, it’ll be too soon.

Han leans in and adds, “Make you a deal. You come home with us and when we get there, you can help me get the Falcon back in shape. No sense in being alone for your break, right? We’ve got a feast coming up, big party, it’ll be  _ way _ better than—” he gestures around at the endless sand, “all of this. Sure, we could drop you off back on Coruscant, but would you rather be stuck alone in that apartment, where you’re gonna be for the whole next term, or would you rather come see Alderaan? You been to Alderaan? I’ve been to a lot of planets, kid, Alderaan’s a nice one.”

He goes on like he’s trying to sell her something. He spends quite a few minutes describing forests and lakes and mountains and things she’s only ever dreamed of, and the crazy part of all of it is that she just can’t stop staring at Ben.

Her roommate—or lover, or maybe nemesis, she’s not sure what the term is, really—gives her a curious look, and it feels like her breathing just  _ stops _ at the thought of spending hours on a ship with him, and at the thought of spending the whole term break with him.

This reaction is why she avoids Ben as much as she can, but it’s impossible to avoid him all the time. It’s impossible not to be drawn to him, to his warm brown eyes and that little smile of his that’s  _ so _ rare and so soft. It’s impossible to not want to feel his hands on her, and it’s impossible to avoid thinking of his mouth working across and down her body.

The stupidly late realization that he’s  _ Han Solo’s son _ is the final dying breath of her hopes that he could someday see her as anything other than a girl whose door he knocks on when he’s feeling desperate enough to bother with someone so detestable to him. 

The thought is like a dagger to her gut. Rey bites her mouth closed, and resorts to doing what she always does when she remembers how easily he could and  _ will _ hurt her when she stops being convenient. She scowls at him, and then she directs her attention back to Han, who’s still talking.

“Leia’s gonna love the company,” he’s promising, and her mind vaguely registers that he’s talking about his wife, Leia Organa, a woman who is both a Princess  _ and  _ a famous senator. 

Leia Organa.... Ben’s  _ mom,  _ which makes Ben a prince, if she’s not mistaken.

She wants to sink into the sand and disappear forever.

“So what do you think, Rey?” Han grins, nudging at her arm. “You gonna come with us, and hang out with the Organa-Solos for a while? Might even have a Skywalker or two show up, but you know how in-laws are, so we’ll see. Either way, it’s gotta be a better break than sticking around here, right? You want to come with us?”

_ No _ would be the smart response. Smarter, even, would be requesting that they simply drop her back on Coruscant without her spending term break with them. 

But something, some part of her that apparently thirsts for her own heartbreak, causes her to nod.

* * *

There’s not much to take from the AT-AT, which is saying something considering she’s spent most of her life scavenging from places that didn’t seem to have much to offer. Maybe she’s done scavenging. At least, maybe she’s done scavenging out of a need to eat.

Her fingers brush over the fabric of a haphazard little doll made from scraps of a fighter pilot suit, and before Ben can see, she picks it up and tucks it carefully into a small sack, along with the flight helmet. She already took her single plate and the tiny pot she uses to boil water—both are packed away in her bag.

Rey takes a moment to scan the space, and her eyes land on the man who tagged along to help while Han gets the Falcon ready. Ben must have been under the impression that she had lots of belongings to pick up.

He’s gone pale now that he’s seen the reality of things, and he turns to her with an odd look on his face. His voice is thin when he asks, “You… lived here?”

She bristles. “Is that a problem? I’m sure it’s hardly what you’re used to, but we can’t all have castles.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he replies, shaking his head slowly. He pauses and bites his bottom lip for the briefest moment. “Did you run away or something?”

The thing is, she longs for someone to know this part of her. She aches for the ability to share herself—the worst parts that explain why she’s sometimes angry and sad and lonely. She is  _ desperate _ for someone to know those parts, but... they’d probably leave. Nobody ever wants the good  _ and _ bad parts.

She plasters on a stoic face. “No. I didn’t run away. Let’s go.”

Ben’s brows draw together as he focuses on her wall. “What are all these marks?”

“They’re nothing. Drop it.”

He ignores her and takes a step closer to all the little scratches. When he raises a hand and traces over some of them, frowning deeply, it’s like he’s touching part of her she’s buried deep. She watches and takes in a shaky breath.

“Rey, what are these?” he asks again, sounding wary. “If you tell me, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

Maybe it’s dramatic, but her heart shatters at the word  _ alone. _

Because he’s not lying. He will leave her alone at some point, probably very soon, probably for a princess or something, and for the billionth time Rey reminds herself what a foolish thing it was, getting involved with him, even just physically.

His gaze cuts to hers, and his head tilts as he waits for an answer.

Rey huffs. “Fine. They’re days. Before I left for Coruscant, I made a mark for each day.” She lifts the bag and hefts it over her shoulder, taking one more look around before she turns to leave.

“Days,” he echoes softly. “But there are enough marks here to count standard years. What were you waiting for?”

“Something that never happened,” she mutters.

Ben’s eyes narrow. “Why won’t you tell me? What’s so terrible about being honest with me?” he prods, and every word of their conversation is starting to feel like one of those scratches, except they’re being left on her own heart and not on the wall. She flinches as he continues, “It’s just a question, Rey. After everything we’ve shared, why do you feel like you can’t tell me the truth?”

“All we’ve  _ shared _ is fluids, stop pretending that means you know me.”

Something flickers across his expression. His jaw tightens. “Fine.” He gestures to the wall again. “Since I apparently know nothing about you, tell me. Were you counting the days until you left? Or were you—” 

“I was waiting for my  _ parents,” _ she interrupts, miraculously managing to not yell at him. Telling him hadn’t been part of the plan but she wants  _ out _ of the conversation, and it seems like the best way to make it stop. Her voice cracks as she admits, “I was waiting for them to come back for me, but they’re dead, okay? Is that what you wanted to know?”

If he was pale before, he’s gone shock white now. For a moment he only works his mouth as his eyes flick back to the wall. “But… but there are so many. You would’ve had to have been a child.”

“I was.”

He lets out a long breath, but doesn’t reply. He only stares at the wall.

And horribly, it feels  _ good _ to have told someone, even though it’s left her feeling cut open and raw. 

Ben is, oddly, the person she wishes she could share these things with. In her dreams he’s just  _ Ben, _ someone who cares about her and holds her and kisses her, and knows her without judging any of her… but in reality, he’s not that.

In reality, he hates her as much as she claims to hate him.

In reality, he’s harsh and cold and cruel. The only time he’s not is when she’s in his bed and he’s stealing bits of her heart with every kiss and touch he leaves on her body. The only time he’s  _ nice _ is when he’s getting what he wants from her.

In reality, he’s the son of a famous (or perhaps _ infamous _ ) pilot, the son of a Princess, the grandson of two Queens (at least she thinks one of his grandmothers was a Queen of Naboo) and the grandson of—

Well, there’s quite a list, really.

Ben’s still staring at the marks when she sighs, shakes her head, and leaves.

On her way to the Falcon, she pauses, taking one more look at the desert planet that’s been home for as much of her life as she can remember. She expected this to hurt, expected to be sad, expected to regret the choice, but all she feels is the truth of her decision settling into her chest.

As she scans the barren land, she promises herself she will  _ never _ live in another desert.

* * *

Rey composes herself by the time she gets back to where Han’s parked the Falcon. She walks up the boarding ramp, ducking inside the ship, which, if she’s being honest, still looks like garbage despite its impressive history. Her attention snaps to where Han’s laying on the floor, on his stomach, muttering furiously as he yanks at a cable.

She clears her throat. “Plutt’s letting you take it, then?”

“Letting?” Han rolls over onto his back and sits up, grimacing at her from the floor. “That useless sack of bantha fodder isn’t  _ letting _ me take her.” He pauses, and admits, “We’re trading. Trust me, most days I’d go at scum like Plutt with a blaster until he gives in, but if it got back to Leia, I’d have bigger issues. I traded him for it. A ship for a ship.”

Rey nods, murmuring, “Hope it wasn’t a  _ good _ ship.”

“Hey, stop talking shit about the Falcon,” he says, shaking a very non-threatening Harris wrench at her. “She’s getting you off this pile of sand, and you’re the one who’s gonna help me get her back into shape when we get to Alderaan. Speaking of—” he gives her a once over, and frowns. “Where’s your stuff? And where’s my kid? You didn’t push him into quicksand, did you?”

“No,” she grumbles. “Tempting.” Han quirks an eyebrow, and there’s a hint of a smirk at his mouth, so she sighs again. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, he was just looking at some things in the AT-AT.”

“Huh. So, that’s all you’re bringing?” He gestures to the bag slung over her shoulder. “Thought you weren’t coming back here. You’re not taking anything else? Nobody minds that you’re heading out early?”

Rey hesitates, and then shrugs. “Nothing else to take. Nobody to say goodbye to.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Right. Well—” he scratches at the back of his neck and stands, nodding toward a corridor, “Let me show you where you can bunk for the trip. Shouldn’t take more than a day, day and a half, but we’ll see what Plutt’s done.” He glances over at her, saying not unkindly, “You look tired, kid. There’s a bunk and a fresher with a sonic shower in here.” He stops at a door and taps at it, causing it to slide open for entry. “Should still be working, so get cleaned up, get some rest, whatever. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to leave as soon as she’s okay to fly. Shouldn’t be long.”

Rey’s head whips back when she hears a Wookie yelling something about a compressor on the ignition line in Shyriiwook. Han groans, turning to yell back, “Yeah, yeah, I saw it, too, give me a minute!”

He glances back and gives her a tight smile. “And hey, about my kid. He says and does stupid shit sometimes—gets that from me—but just between us, I think you’re the first girl he’s fallen for, so take it easy on him, okay?”

She’s torn between laughing and being stunned, but lands somewhere in the middle and lets out a little huff while she gives him a doubtful look. “No offense Han, but I think you’ve sorely misread the situation.”

“Don’t think so,” he chuckles quietly. “I know my kid. But anyway, get some rest. You can help us with the Falcon later.”

It’s tempting to argue, because she’s a little excited at the idea of working on the  _ Millennium Falcon, _ and she doesn’t love the idea of not quickly making good on their deal of her work in exchange for a ride off Jakku. But the fatigue setting into her body, the fact that she wants to avoid more of Han trying to give  _ romantic  _ advice, and the emotional weight of leaving Jakku for the last time, make the decision for her. She nods and heads into the room, leaving Han in the corridor behind her.

The door slides closed, and she looks around at how surprisingly clean it is, though that makes sense considering how the ship’s been parked and gone unused the whole time Plutt’s had it. He’s been trying to sell it for years, and now she understands why nobody had the lack of sense to buy it. Someone would need to be a moron to fly the  _ Millennium Falcon _ knowing it’s been stolen.

To one side, there’s a decently sized bed with a blanket still folded up at the end of it. An efficient, compact fresher is directly opposite of it, and she heads in there first, stripping off everything from her tunic to her boots and her armbands. She steps into the sonic shower, pressing a button on one side. There’s no doubt the Organa-Solo residence is nice enough to have a hot water shower, but right now she’s happy for any shower at all.

It takes mere moments for the dirt accrued from her day on Jakku to disappear. When she steps out, sighing at the relief of feeling clean, she grimaces at her clothes, pooled on the floor where she left them. Since being spoiled with convenient clothes-cleaning machines on Coruscant, it’s gotten harder to put dusty, filthy clothing back on after showering.

She leaves the clothes behind and steps out into the room she’s been given for the length of the trip, in search of something cleaner to sleep in. There’s a closet near the bed that she’s hoping hasn’t been looted, and—

Rey freezes at the sound of the door sliding open.

There’s a minor wave of relief when she sees it’s Ben, and not his  _ father _ who steps into the room. He glances over at her, and his eyes go wide as he rushes to close the door behind him. His lips part as his gaze travels over her, but all that comes out of his mouth is a low, throaty noise.

It’s a flattering reaction, at least.

“Nothing you haven’t already seen,” she mutters.

After a moment, he works out, “That’s… not true.” His expression softens. “You always leave your arm wraps on.” His voice drops to a whisper. “You have freckles there, too. I wondered about that.”

The way he says it, combined with the way he’s looking at her, is uncomfortably tender.

Rey crosses her arms over her chest. “Right. Well, I was looking for something to put on. This is your dad’s ship, so, any chance you know whether there’s anything here I can sleep in?”

With a nod, he tears his eyes from her and opens up the closet she’d been about to check, rifling through it until he finds what he’s looking for. “The Falcon was stolen when I was a teenager,” he explains, “So it’s been a while, but it looks like nobody raided it. Or, at least if they  _ did, _ they weren’t looking for clothes.”

He pulls out a large white tunic. Or maybe on his teenage self it was simply a shirt, but as she takes it from him and tugs it on over her head, it lands at her thighs. The fabric is worn just enough to be soft, and it has long sleeves that cover her forearms, which feel bare from a lack of her usual arm wraps. The collar is open, dipping low between her breasts.

She tries not to think too much about the fact that she’s wearing his clothing. It’s scavenged. It just  _ happened _ to belong to him.

Ben’s cheeks have gone pink, and he puts a hand through his hair as he clearly tries not to stare. Rey’s eyes track the movement, even as he clears his throat and says, “Look, I’m sorry I pushed you for answers back at the AT-AT. If I’d known, I…” he hesitates, and meets her gaze, his expression turning a little sad. “I’m glad I know now, but I’m sorry I didn’t let you keep your secrets, especially if that’s what you wanted. Everyone has secrets. You’re entitled to keep yours.”

“ _ Everyone has secrets,” _ she echoes. “You’re not kidding. Your family is some sort of political dynasty, aren’t they? I noticed you’ve never mentioned that you’re a prince in between rounds.”

His cringe is barely noticeable, but it’s there. “It’s not exactly a secret. Plus,” he shrugs awkwardly, “You never mentioned you’re an orphaned scavenger who lives in an abandoned AT-AT when you’re not on Coruscant.”

“You never asked.”

Ben works his mouth, then mumbles, “Maybe that’s because you always leave my bed as soon as we’re done.”

“Right,” she says dryly, “As if you’d care to know, anyway,  _ your Highness.” _

Finally, he snaps. “First of all, people rarely address me by a title, and—”

Rey tsks. “Well I’m bored with this conversation already. I think I’ll get some sleep, so why don’t you go? This room’s a little small for both of us.” 

“Go? What do you mean,  _ go?  _ Where do you think I’d go?” He tilts his head, eyebrow quirking. “You realize you’re in  _ my _ bunk, don’t you? If you’re sleeping in here, that means we’re sharing.” 

She scoffs, hating how much she doesn’t hate that idea. The truth is, she’s too tired to argue, and she’d rather be in here than out where Han might catch her and start asking questions. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he put her in his son’s room on purpose.

“Fine,” she sighs. “Whatever.”

Walking past him, she climbs onto the bed, which actually seems quite a bit smaller once she’s in it. It’s softer than she expected, and the pillow is thick and plush—all in all, it’ll do nicely. 

Ben turns his back to her, so she doesn’t hide the way she watches him. She slides down the bed, laying with her back propped on the pillow, and lets her gaze wander over him.

Maybe this would be easier if he was less beautiful, if he wasn’t so warm, and if he didn’t occasionally seem so  _ safe _ and dependable. Maybe it would be easier if it didn’t seem like he could care, because the hardest part of dealing with whatever’s between them is the rare moment when he touches her or looks at her like she’s someone who could be precious to him. Somehow that little glimpse of hope is crueler than his most biting words.

_ You know I hate you, right? _

_ The feeling’s mutual. _

Rey lets out a slow breath as her eyes slide up the length of his spine, revealed inch by inch as he takes off his shirt. His skin is soft and unscarred where hers is calloused and blemished with countless marks, the provenance of which she rarely remembers. It’s one of the many reasons she loves touching him. She’s never had someone she could just  _ touch, _ and in the worst way, she wishes she could sit in his lap and run her hands all over him.

When he turns back to her, having swapped his fitted trousers for sleep pants, Rey’s quick to look away. There is, undoubtedly, a blush across her cheeks, which is silly given the sort of things they’ve done. But something about this feels more intimate.

Ben clears his throat, seeming as awkward as she feels. “So… you don’t mind if we share?” 

He chews at his lip, and Rey can’t decide whether to stare at his mouth, his broad, bare shoulders, or his abdomen. Her eyes flick between all three as she tries to formulate an answer. 

“Rey?”

“I—what?”

“You don’t mind? The bed? Sharing?...Rey?”

“Right,” she blurts, blinking up at him. Much to her annoyance, there’s a slow-growing, knowing grin on his face. “Uh. I guess.” It’s a struggle, but she makes a point to frown. “If we have to.”

Ben considers her, and it becomes clear as he walks over to her that he plans to forgo wearing a shirt, which is—

Well, it’s not something she minds.

Not for the first time, it strikes her that there must be a part of her that’s a little addicted to him. Why  _ else _ would she choose to be around him, knowing how much it’ll hurt?

He plants a knee on the bed, staring into her eyes as he gets closer and closer, until he’s hovering over her. “You know....” he starts lowly. His gaze moves down to her mouth, and his throat bobs. “We don’t  _ need _ to sleep.”

“I guess we don’t,” she replies, trying to sound only mildly interested at best, but considering how breathy her voice comes out, Rey’s sure she’s failed.

His forehead presses to hers, and the bridge of his nose nudges into her cheek. “Why don’t you ever let me kiss you?”

“You kiss me quite a bit, actually.”

He backs away and hums, then taps his pointer finger once against her bottom lip. “Not here.” 

She hates that she remembers how it feels to kiss his mouth.

Rey can feel the warmth of his skin on her lips, and  _ gods _ is it tempting to let him kiss her. Not just let him— _ beg him _ , because at this point he’s kissed almost every inch of her skin and more than anything, she wants to feel his mouth on hers again. But she’s given him nearly everything. Even if it’s just for her own sanity, she needs to keep at least this one thing, needs to have  _ one _ part of her that won’t be completely haunted by the memory of him once he’s moved on.

“Only people I like get to kiss me there,” she rasps.

Ben huffs a dry laugh at that, moving to straddle her hips. His weight settles on her comfortably, pinning her in place. “People you like? Really? Funny, I haven’t noticed you bring anyone home. Friends, partners, hookups… none of them. You don’t strike me as someone who likes many people, sweetheart.”

“ _ Sweetheart?  _ Really?” Rey groans. “Is that meant to be flirting?”

“Me? Flirt with you?” He clicks his tongue and sits up over her. His hands land on his own white tunic, over her belly, and they play at the edge of the fabric. Slowly, he slides it up, bunching it just under her breasts. His hands are massive enough to spread over the whole width of her there with his fingers pressing into the sides of her ribcage. The corner of his mouth twitches up. “I think I’m doing more than flirting. Can I keep going?”

She can’t help but think it’s a mistake when she nods.

Ben gestures for her to sit up, probably so he can tug the shirt off her, but something about the moment makes her still. She props up on her elbows, pursing her lips while she thinks.

They’re doing this, there’s no doubt in her mind that’s the case, but there’s something painfully vulnerable about surrendering to him, being under him, feeling the gentle ways he touches her, seeing the deceptively soft look in his eyes. 

He looks at her like that now, and it  _ hurts. _

It would be so easy,  _ so _ terribly easy to convince herself she’s someone he loves.

Part of her wants to, and part of her knows the truth and just can’t bring herself to watch him, not when there’s a voice in the back of her mind trying to convince her that  _ gentle _ or  _ soft _ are words that can be used to describe Ben’s intentions with her. 

“Can you turn the lights off?” she asks.

Ben frowns as he stares down at her. He knows she’s not self-conscious, and that she has no issues being seen naked—at least not by him—so he likely doesn’t understand the request. Still, he climbs off her, walking over to the door. She misses his warmth and weight the second he leaves. When he reaches a panel on the wall, he presses a button, plunging the room into darkness.

The moment his fingertips brush over her thighs in the darkness, Rey wonders if turning off the lights was a mistake. Not being able to see him means she doesn’t know what he’ll do, and there’s something so intimate about doing this in the dark.

Feeling nervous, she sits up, turning so her legs dangle off the side of the bed. She’s about to tell him she changed her mind about the lights, about to find some pants and join Han and let him ask whatever awkward questions he wants, because this—this gentleness and this tension—it’s too much. 

But Ben comes to stand between her thighs, touching her with the lightest pressure, and she can’t bring herself to put a stop to it. She shudders in a breath as his fingertips skate up under the shirt, lifting it slowly up her abdomen, and then up over her chest, shoulders, and head when she raises her arms.

The temperature of the room seems to drop as the air hits her, and she shivers, even more so when his mouth brushes the edge of hers. Not quite there, but  _ so _ close. He stays there, pressing his forehead to her temple. The warmth and sweetness of his breath feathers out along her skin.

“Tell me what you hate about me,” he murmurs against her jaw. “I want to know.”

His mouth works down her neck while she stammers, “W-what?”

Ben repeats the words against the hollow of her throat. “Tell me what you hate about me. Everything. Or, just  _ one _ thing.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Hands trail down her body, pushing her thighs apart, and Rey inhales sharply as a warm hand cups her. Fingers brush along her labia in a teasing caress.

“What’s confusing about it?” he asks quietly. He’s bent over her, nuzzling into her shoulder. “You hate me. I want to know why. Here, I’ll go first.” His mouth—that warm, generous mouth—kisses a slow trail across her collarbones, punctuating his words as he says, “I hate you because I can’t concentrate on anything else while you’re around. You’re too distracting. I hate it.”

“Oh.” He traces around her with a single blunt finger before easing it into her, and Rey props herself up on a hand planted on the bed behind her. She lets her head fall back. “ _ Oh.” _

In the dark, she can’t tell exactly how he’s moving, but he pulls away from her, even sliding his finger out of her. When she feels him shift and then start kissing at her thighs, she bites the inside of her cheek. He must have knelt down before her.

It’s hardly a secret between them that she likes this. Even if she  _ wanted _ to keep that a secret, her body betrays her every time his head is between her legs. His breath lands at the inside of her thighs as he asks, “Just _ one _ thing?” He plants a single kiss against her lower lips. “You hate me so much,” he hums. “Shouldn’t be hard to come up with a reason why. Here, I’ll give you more examples.”

He runs his nose up the length of her, nudging it against her clit. He kisses her there again and mumbles, “I hate you for not letting me kiss you.” His tongue flicks over her, just once, making her shudder. “I hate you  _ so much  _ for that. You have no idea how much.”

Rey reaches down, tangling her hand in his hair. His fingers push into her—two this time, curling the way she likes. She can feel his smile against her thigh as he laughs and adds, “I hate you for tasting so good.” 

At that, she snorts, even managing to laugh a little herself. “You’re a terrible flirt.” She caresses the side of his face, and runs a hand through his hair, letting the darkness make her brave enough to match his tenderness. Part of her thinks she should enjoy it while it lasts.

“Okay,” she sighs. “You want to know why I hate you?”

“Just one reason. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She bends down, tugging his head back and up a bit so she can nuzzle her nose to his. He makes the softest gasping sound, as though he thinks she’s about to kiss him. It’s tempting, but she doesn’t. Against his cheek—while he’s trying, maybe a little playfully, to kiss near her mouth—she murmurs, “I hate you because you aren’t in me right now.”

Ben stills. His voice comes out raspy. “That’s a loophole answer, and you know it.”

“You didn’t establish any rules,” she argues.

“Rey, come on, that’s not what I meant.”

“You  _ never _ specified what counted for an answer. I think—”

He silences her, pressing a well-aimed finger to her mouth. Then he drops it and sighs softly. “I just want to know,” he admits. “If you hate me, I want to know if it’s for the reason I think it is.” 

“This isn’t a conversation I want to have. Are we doing this or not?”

After a long moment, he lets out a breath. He stands and cups her face, tilting her head back in his hands. It’s painful, the way she wishes it was intended as a loving gesture.

His thumbs trace the outline of her bottom lip. 

“Okay, Rey,” he whispers. “Whatever you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes up and realizes Rey’s still in his arms, and that the events of the past eight hours or so were _not_ a dream, Ben’s convinced he’s forgotten how to breathe. She’s sleeping soundly, facing away from him with her back pressed to his front and her head resting on his upper arm. One of her hands is up by her head, her fingers tangled with his.

Neither of them bothered putting clothes back on, but he’s curled around her, keeping her warm. For once, she’s not shivering.

His heart aches as he presses his mouth to the side of her neck. Slowly, he kisses down to her shoulder, reveling in the sort of closeness Rey never usually allows. He wishes she would allow it. He wishes she would allow _so_ much more, because he’d do anything to give it to her.

She makes a soft sleepy noise that tugs at something in his chest, and then she asks in a drowsy voice, “Ben? Why are you awake?”

“Sorry,” he whispers, “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“I won’t be able to,” she grumbles.

With a little effort, Rey manages to turn over on her side so she’s facing him. Ben grasps her hip, keeping her close so she won’t fall off the bed, and his breathing stutters when she nuzzles into his chest and slides one arm over his side.

She sighs again, seeming content. “You’re very warm.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” he breathes, too stunned by her willing closeness to say much else.

Rey hums, burying her face into his shoulder. Her lips press against his skin, and he can’t help but smile a little. He leans in, kissing her cheek. “I’m glad you’re okay with this,” he says. “Cuddling, I mean.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Don’t assume I like it. I’m using you for your body heat.”

The way she says it, Ben genuinely can’t tell if she’s serious or teasing. It’s very possible she’s serious, but he’ll take what he can get.

Ben tugs her closer. “We could do this more often, you know. I don’t mind cuddling, especially if you’re cold. The apartment can be drafty.”

As he caresses little circles down her spine, he realizes she grew up on a desert planet—it’s no wonder she’s always shivering. The more he pieces together, the more it hurts. Does she sleep wrapped in a ball because she’s cold, or is it because she spent so many nights with nothing to comfort her but the scrap-of-fabric doll he noticed in her bag?

“Not necessary,” she finally mumbles. “I have more blankets there.”

“Mm. But I’m warmer.”

“I know what you’re doing,” she mutters. “It won’t work.”

At that, he frowns, tightening the arm around her. “What I’m doing? What do you mean? I’m just offering to cuddle you more, if you want. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it? I meant it to be.”

Rey snorts as her hand slides up his chest. “Sure you did. Maybe it _seems_ nice, but that just means you want something. You’re always playing a game.”

“But I’m not,” he says softly. This throat bobs as he considers her. The room is dark, but the tiniest bit of light from the corridor comes in around the edge of the door, and he can just barely make out the bridge of her nose, and the way her lips are pursed. He regrets his words almost immediately when he asks, “Have you ever considered that I’m trying to be nice because I like you?”

He regrets it, because she scoffs. “We both know none of this means anything.”

And _oh_ does that hurt.

Silence falls between them for a moment, but then she shakes her head and pulls out of his arms, climbing out of bed. He hears her shuffling around for something—clothing, maybe.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting out of this room,” she sighs, her voice thick. “Getting away from you.”

As he sits up in bed, Ben’s shoulders fall. Part of him wonders why he feels the way he does about her when half their interactions just result in feeling like he’s been stabbed in the chest.

Part of him thinks it’s his own fault. Actually, part of him knows it’s his fault. At least partly.

After all, _he_ was the one who woke up that first morning with her in his bed and stammered out the worst, most miserable set of words he’s ever spoken to her— _this meant nothing._ At the time, he was a little freaked out by waking up hungover and curled up with his equally hungover roommate, the first woman who treated him like… like he’s just _him,_ and not an Organa or a Skywalker or a Solo. 

He was _also_ the asshole who then promptly left his room (and left her in his bed, wide-eyed in what he’s sure was unpleasant surprise), while he rushed off to silently panic in their shower. 

By the time he went back to his room, his bed was empty. It’s still a little surprising such a disastrous morning led to the odd arrangement they have now, especially once her feelings toward him shot from friendly to supposedly hateful, but he’s just thankful she’s even willing to talk with him.

At that thought, Ben sighs, and says quietly, “No, you stay. Get more rest, if you want. I’ll go.”

He gets up, dressing in sleep pants and a shirt while Rey stands there, not speaking. The urge to kiss her, or even just hug her or hold her hand or _anything_ is so intense it hurts. He doesn’t do any of it. He clears his throat, presses the button next to the door, and leaves, giving her the space she clearly wants.

Even if it hurts.

When Ben falls into the copilot’s seat with a groan just a minute or two later, his father glances over, eyebrow raised. He can’t decide if it’s annoying or a relief that his father always seems to have an idea when something’s bothering him. Ben’s either got a terrible poker face, or Han is a bit of a mind reader. 

“You want to talk about it?” his father asks. “Chewie’s taking a nap. S’just us if you need to get anything off your chest.”

Ben shakes his head, and gestures out into hyperspace. “How far from home are we?”

He could figure it out himself by taking a better look at the navigational information and controls laid out around them, but he doesn’t really care. The question is just a desperate plea for distraction, because his mind won’t stop flip-flopping between his hopeless need to analyze his situation with Rey, and the painful revelation about her life on Jakku.

Next to him, his father presses a button, pulls a lever, putting the ship into autopilot, and then folds his arms over his chest, turning to him. “So, that’s Rey, huh?”

Straight to the point, then. He shouldn’t be surprised. 

Ben makes firm eye contact with his knees and toys at the fraying hem of his shirt, wondering how much he should say. He settles on, “Yeah. That’s her.”

Han nods. “I like her. She’s tough. Gotta be tough to grow up alone on a planet like Jakku, I guess. Brave, too.”

“How’d you know she grew up there? Did she tell you?”

Han shakes his head. “Got some info out of Unkar. Not much, but I wanted to make sure. I—” He grimaces, scratching at the back of his neck. “I was worried she was a slave. Figured she wasn’t if she knew you from Coruscant U, but it seemed like a good idea to check.” 

When Ben sucks in a surprised breath, Han’s quick to explain, “She’s not. I made sure. Plutt’s more of a… well, I guess he’s sort of hoarding resources. Might as well be slavery, if you ask me. People are working hard days just to eat, so it’s not like they can afford to get offworld.” He hesitates. “You should be talking to _her_ about this. Not me.”

Ben sinks further into the seat. It’s not exactly a shocking revelation, or at least it _shouldn’t_ be given what he knows of Jakku and Rey. The more he thinks about it, the more things add up. Her insistence on not wasting food, her sadness around discussions of families, her fiercely territorial reactions to anyone touching her belongings.

He thinks of her plants, which are sitting in storage under an artificial light source, and his heart squeezes when he realizes she’s probably never seen much of healthy, growing foliage outside Coruscant’s public gardens.

“Y’know,” his father starts slowly, leaning back in the pilot’s chair. He’s got his fingers laced behind his head. “I know some things about growing up like that. Can’t speak for Rey, but it took a lot of convincing to believe I meant anything to someone. Took a _lot_ of convincing to really let anyone in, you know what I mean? Took a long time to even talk to anyone about growing up like I did.”

Ben looks over at him and sees that he’s looking out into hyperspace, pointedly not making eye contact. It’s not that they’ve never talked about things like this—Ben knows about his father’s past, even the miserable little details—but Han always seems _just_ on the edge of discomfort whenever the subject comes up. He talks as though it’s a past he’d prefer to forget.

The man’s throat bobs, and he continues, “For a while there I kept telling myself there was no way a princess and a guy like me could make things work. Not ‘cause I didn’t want them to work, but because I didn’t think I… “ he shrugs, a little awkwardly, “Well. I wasn’t sure I was good enough for her. I figured she’d cut and run. Just like everyone else.” 

He pauses for a moment, and then says, “I don’t know what’s going on with you two. Might be a different situation, but you say she hates you, right? Any chance she’s just keeping her distance?”

“I don’t know,” Ben says honestly. “I think… I think I made her feel like I don’t care about her.”

Han glances over, and it’s obvious he’s debating whether or not to ask _what_ , exactly, Ben did. It’s a relief when he doesn’t, and only says, “Well. You’ve got the next month. No classes, no commitments, except some family dinners and helping with the Falcon, and now Rey’s going to be around. Maybe you can fix whatever you did? Worth a shot, right?”

“I’m just not sure how to fix it,” Ben sighs.

“You’ve got a month to figure it out, kid. If you’re worried you made her think you don’t care, maybe show her you do.”

After a minute, Ben nods thoughtfully. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“Good,” Han laughs, clapping his shoulder. “Glad I helped.” He gestures out at hyperspace. “You two were asleep for a while. We’re almost there. You want to fly her home?”

He’s flown the Falcon before. Both as a small child on his dad’s lap—though, that probably didn’t count as _actually_ flying, and then quite a bit when he was a teenager, before it was stolen.

“Dunno how well it fits into your senatorial plans, but the Falcon’s going to be yours, someday, if you want to have her,” his father adds quietly. 

Ben expression softens as he looks over at the man. 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

* * *

She stops short the moment she steps off the boarding ramp. It’s such a quick halt, it causes her to stumble over her own feet, and Ben catches her arm, steadying her.

Rey’s too stunned by everything she’s looking at to even question his closeness. It’s so beautiful, she forgets to hate him.

It… it can’t be real. Can it?

Moments pass, during which she only stares. Stares at the vivid greens of the distant treeline, stares at the rippling waters that reflect a deep blue sky, stares at the naturally growing bushes and wildflowers scattered through the endless grassy land stretched out before them.

Ben’s arm slides slowly around her waist. “Beautiful, right?”

“I—I didn’t realize,” she stammers. She thinks of how shocked she was by the public gardens on Coruscant, but even those are nothing to everything spread in front of her now. “There’s _so_ much. So much green. So much… life.”

His hand squeezes her side. They stand there for a minute in the temperate breeze before she snaps out of it, and glances over at him, her eyes still wide. “Your family must be waiting,” she blurts, realizing they were the last two off the Falcon, and Han and Chewie have probably already gone inside the dwelling she can see in the distance. His family’s hosting her for an entire standard month, per her agreement with Han, and she hardly wants to start off on a bad foot. “We should hurry, right?”

Ben smiles. “Don’t worry about it.” He nods toward the body of water within view, and asks, “Would you want to swim while you’re here? I could teach you, if you don’t know how.”

His kindness—assuming that’s what this is—is as unexpected as the planet they’ve landed on. She blinks at him, almost expecting him to roll his eyes and make a joke about letting her drown, but his expression is nothing but warm.

It’s tempting to lean in, tempting to trust that he means well, but she’s made that mistake before.

Rey bristles at the memory, stepping out of his hold. “That would be fine, if I have time,” she replies, maybe a little brusquely. She _should_ say no, should tell him to leave her alone, but she’s never seen quite so much water before, and she wants to try swimming. “Shouldn’t we get inside? It seems to be getting dark out, and I’m sure people are waiting for you.”

“Oh. Sure,” he murmurs. She watches his jaw roll, as if he has more to say, but then he hefts his packed bag over one shoulder and gestures toward the sprawling house they parked the Falcon near. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

As they walk, Ben sighs, asking, “So you know who my dad is, and I’m guessing by that _political dynasty_ comment, you know who my mother is?”

Rey snorts. “Does anyone not know who she is?” She pauses, taking the time to brush off the front of her tunic now that she remembers she’s about to meet _Leia Organa._ Tentatively, she asks, “Isn’t she technically a Princess? Or… is she a senator? Both? Can someone be both?”

“Princess of Alderaan, and since I’m not ready to take the job yet, she represents the planet in the senate,” he nods. “She’ll ascend to the role of Queen once I’m available to be in the senate, and my grandmother will… well, retire, I guess.” 

Without thinking, she mutters, “You could have _told_ me I was fucking a prince.”

Ben’s lips flatten. “Would it have changed anything?” 

There’s a bitter tone to his voice, and Rey hesitates, wondering about that. Really, if she’d put much logical thought into things, she probably wouldn’t have continued hooking up with him at all after that first time, but it wouldn’t have been because of his title. 

Before she can reply with that, he grimaces. 

“See, this is why I don’t like to tell people. _This_ is why I use my dad’s last name. At least that only gets me kicked out of bars.”

She stops mid-step, grasping at his upper arm so he stops, too. “You didn’t even let me answer. _No,_ it wouldn’t have changed anything, and I don’t like the implication that it would have. Would I have teased you more? Probably. Would I have sarcastically addressed you by your title? Of course. But…” she bites at her lip, not missing the way his eyes flick down to it. “But no, it wouldn’t have changed things.” Her grip on his arm softens, and absentmindedly, she slides her thumb across his skin. Swallowing, she adds the lie that’s only getting harder to tell. “I still would have hated you.”

He pauses, and pointedly looks down at where she’s caressing him. One of his eyebrows quirks. “You keep saying that,” he murmurs. “But I’m starting to notice something.”

“What?” she asks, her tone _much_ more breathy than she’d like it.

He’s leaning in, and her hand is still on him, and Rey knows she should step back and change the subject before it’s too late. For some reason, she doesn’t. 

The corner of his mouth curls up as he steps closer. “For someone who hates me,” he says softly, “You’re not good at acting like it. Are you _sure_ that’s how you feel?”

There’s a bit of a smirk on his face.

It’s a nice reminder that her feelings are a joke to him.

Rey huffs. She drops her hand, steps back, and rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

She glances toward the house they’re almost at, noting its elegant white stone material, so unlike anything she’s seen even on Coruscant. “Anyway,” she says, changing the subject in the most obvious way possible, “If your family’s royalty, is there a castle?”

“Palace,” he corrects after a moment, a little awkwardly. He clears his throat, sounding disappointed she didn’t play into his facetious flirting. “It’s called the Mountain Palace, but that’s not where we’re staying. It’s not far, but my grandparents still live there, and _yeah,_ it’s more traditional for the whole Royal Family to live there, too, but my parents had this place built when I was a little kid.” He snorts. “I get the impression my grandparents were driving them crazy, and they needed their own space.”

They start walking up the packed dirt path again, and he adds, “When my other grandparents come to visit, things can get busy. Having everyone all combined in one space, even if it’s a palace, might be awful.”

“Aren’t there _two_ queens in your family?” she asks, frowning. At the sight of Ben’s cheeks turning pink, she shrugs, “I’m just confirming. It’s hard to believe, given your manners.”

It was meant to be a dig, meant to remind them both that they don’t like each other, but Ben only laughs. “Grandma Breha _does_ say my dad rubbed off on me too much.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Nah, that’s not it. I like him.”

Ben rolls his eyes and explains, “My grandma Padme _was_ Queen of Naboo, but that’s not something that gets passed down in the family. Queens on Naboo are elected. She served her terms, then served as their senator. She’s retired now, but she’s still advising their current senator.”

“I think I see why you took your dad’s name.”

“Mm. It’s a lot to live up to. There’s usually a week at the beginning of each term when nobody’s figured it out, but so far someone always catches on and starts telling everyone in class,” he says dryly. “It’s usually a nightmare. Even my teachers are weird about it when they know. At least _Solo_ is a lot less known than _Organa,_ or even _Nabierre._ Still,” he sighs, “Sometimes I wish I didn’t even have a second name.”

“No you don’t.”

He stops midstep, frowning over at her, and he studies her for a moment before his expression melts into something that’s frustratingly sympathetic. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I didn’t mean—”

Rey waves him off. She doesn’t _want_ to hear an apology. She’s practically looking for excuses not to like him right now, because the more she lets him talk, the more human he seems, and the more it all hurts.

“So who’s here now?” she asks, nodding toward the house, not because she cares or wants to learn more about him, but if she’s about to meet a Queen while wearing said Queen’s grandson’s shirt and her own Jakku-sand-covered pants, she’d like the advanced notice.

Ben hesitates, and she gets the distinct impression he’s holding back a stream of apologies. 

“Just my parents for now,” he finally says. “Grandma Breha will visit at some point, and I’m sure more of the family will, too. They usually do.”

That’s a relief, at least. Her mind wanders as they trudge along in the midday sun, and she’s not entirely sure what the time is, but if she had to hazard a guess, there’s a decent chance she’d either be scavenging or yelling at Plutt if she was still on Jakku. Even considering the awkward and uncomfortable company, this is a major improvement.

When they arrive at the white stone structure, surrounded by columns and sprawling flowers and plants, there’s a twinge in her belly. She stills near the front door, looking down at the prickly plants that remind her a little of the ones she left at home.

“Everything okay?”

She glances back to Ben. “Just worrying about my plants.”

“Oh.” If she’s not imagining things, he turns a little red. “Um. They’re safe. I think my dad and Chewie brought them inside. I took them when I left the apartment.”

Rey blinks at him. “You did _what?”_

For a moment, she’s furious, but then he nods, explaining, “I didn’t want them to die while we were gone. It’s warmer here, and I was going to have one of the gardeners replace the soil and tend to them.” He tilts his head, saying quietly, “I knew you’d be upset if they died, and I’m sorry I didn’t ask first, but you’d already left. I was planning to put them back before you got home.”

Her eyes widen. She tries to make sense of that, tries to figure out how it could be part of one of his games. Maybe he was trying to get on her good side so he could turn around and hurt her again, or maybe it was just to confuse her. 

But the thing is, she never would have noticed that he’d taken them. They just would have been healthier when she got back from Jakku. She never would have known.

After a minute of staring blankly up at him, the only conclusion she manages to come to is a confusing one, but what’s more confusing is her own reaction. Without really thinking of it, she lets the bag that’s slung over her shoulder drop to the ground. She lifts on her toes and takes his face in both hands, and presses her mouth to his cheek.

It must shock him as much as it does her. Rey pulls away quickly, noticing that he looks utterly bewildered just by the brief kiss that wasn’t even on his lips. Her mouth falls open while she stammers, “I—that—I shouldn’t—”

Ben surges forward and wraps an arm around her, holding her jaw in one hand. Just that silences her, and _gods_ the way he stares down at her mouth makes it blindingly clear just how much he wants to kiss her. She slides her hands to his chest, and he leans closer, and for a moment, Rey thinks maybe she’ll let him. Her eyes flutter closed just as his thumb swipes across her bottom lip. She lets out a breath, wondering if he’s working up to a kiss.

She’s kissed him before, just a handful of times, and all during that first night they spent together. Those kisses—those unhurried, messy, testing kisses during which she could feel him smiling against her mouth—are burned into her memory, both for good reasons, and bad ones.

Good, because they were with _Ben._ Good, because they were her first. Good, because they were playful and sweet and shared with someone who was both a stranger and someone who managed to make her feel safe. Good, because they led to a _lot_ more firsts, that very night.

Bad, because they were her last, bad because of the words that were blurted in her direction the next morning, just as she’d been about to smile broadly and kiss him again, finally feeling at home and _not alone_ for the first time in her life.

_This meant nothing._

He may as well have said _you_ meant nothing, and _oh_ does she wish she hated him.

Rey pushes down the memory, then waits, and waits, and waits like a fool with her eyes closed.

But Ben doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t even ask if he can. When she finally opens her eyes, feeling a little confused, Ben’s just holding her face and looking down at her longingly.

“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” he asks her, so quietly the words almost get lost with the breeze.

Rey swallows. “Of course I do. People don’t tend to forget their first kiss, do they?”

For some reason, that startles him out of whatever trance he seems to be under. He blinks at her, his voice thin when he asks, “What? That was your first kiss? But—”

Too quickly, both his sentence and their embrace end at the sound of a door opening, and at the sound of an amused woman’s voice.

“I was wondering where you two wandered off to. Han said you were coming behind him.”

Rey’s the one who pulls away, and it’s a regrettable choice. She flushes red when she sees the woman at the door—Ben’s mother, without a doubt. The woman’s wearing a flattering suit of dark blues, a knowing grin, and an intricate braid. The mischievous look in her eyes is something she must have passed on to her son. 

“Feel like making introductions, Ben?”

When he doesn’t reply, Rey glances at him and sees that he’s still staring at her, eyes wide, as though she’s just told him something earth-shattering.

His mother tries again. “Hello? Yes Ben, your guest is very lovely. Do you feel like introducing her?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathes, coming back to reality. His cheeks go pink as he turns to his mother, keeping his arm in place around Rey. His stunned look drops into a frown. “Oh. Not particularly,” he mutters. “You _know_ you interrupted. We would have come inside on our own.”

“Mmmhm, of course you would have,” his mother laughs, shaking her head at him.

Ben sighs with faux exhaustion. “Fine. This is Rey.” He glances over at her, and through his hint of a smile, she can still see a lot of confusion. “Uh. Rey, this is my mom. Don’t let her scare you.”

“Call me Leia, please,” the woman corrects, before turning her wide smile on Rey. “And don’t listen to my son, I would never scare away a young woman he’s brought home, especially when she’s his first girlfriend.”

Ben makes an odd choking noise and goes still next to her. Absolutely _rigid,_ and the three of them just stand there for a moment in the most awkward silence Rey’s ever experienced.

And of course, Rey would give almost anything to be invisible or sink into the ground or _anything_ that doesn’t involve standing there.

Finally, Leia snorts. “Ah. Well, I suppose we can make up a guest room for you to stay in, if you’d be more comfortable, or—”

“No, I can stay with Ben,” Rey blurts. “It’s fine, we’ve shared before, and—”

The words die in her throat when Ben starts practically wheezing, and then manages to work out, “Let’s not get into specifics.” 

When Rey realizes the implications of what she’s said, and when she realizes those are literally the first words she’s ever spoken to his mother, it’s possible she dies just a little bit on the inside.

Leia looks thoroughly amused. Rey’s not sure whether that’s a good thing, but the woman’s grin widens as she looks between them. 

“Well,” Leia hums, “this is going to be fun.”

* * *

Stress seeps out of him within minutes of getting inside. It’s not the house that’s particularly relaxing, though it _is_ home and more comfortable than most people would expect given who lives in it. The benefit of not living in the palace is that their home isn’t used for hosting events, and nobody minds if they still have a massive recliner-style couch that’s long gone out of style. Nobody’s around to care if they have candid family pictures hanging on the walls.

Still, even the comfort of being at home wouldn’t overcome the insane confusion mixed with terror that he’s feeling right now. 

He keeps replaying that first kiss, so many months ago, trying to figure out how he didn’t know it was Rey’s first _ever._ It raises a lot of questions about how many things, exactly, were a first for her that night. Probably a lot more than he ever realized.

Then there’s the other reason his head’s spinning—the moment Rey kissed his cheek outside, after learning of her plants, he started thinking things were about to get much simpler, but then he heard his mother say the word _girlfriend,_ and his nerves spiked.

It all seeps away—or, at least the nerves start to—when his mother leads them into the house and quickly announces that she’s off to the palace for meetings all afternoon, and a budgeting session with the Queen that might run late into the night. Per her, his father and Chewie are sleeping off the trip.

Moments after getting inside, it’s just him and Rey, standing in the open-concept living space in an awkward silence.

She’s politely trying not to gawk at the high ceilings and wall-to-wall windows that overlook the mountains and the lake, but she’s nowhere near as subtle about it as she probably thinks she is.

He’s mostly trying not to gawk at _her,_ and he’s not bothering to be subtle.

The questions bouncing around his mind amalgamate into something along the lines of _why did she kiss his cheek?,_ and maybe more importantly, _does this mean he can kiss her?_ But as much as he wants to, Ben isn’t sure he should press his luck. He doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to Rey. 

There are a million questions he wants to ask, but the first one that comes out is, “Was I really your first kiss?”

Her attention snaps back to him. Suspiciously, she asks, “Why do you care?”

Hesitantly, he replies, “I care because it implies a lot, doesn’t it? A lot about the… other things we did that night?” 

Rey looks at him for a long moment, and the thing is, he can’t really figure out what he expects her to reply with. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to her, but maybe it did, and if it _did,_ then him telling her it meant nothing… 

He expects her to snap at him or something, but he doesn’t expect the eye-roll. Nor does he expect the thick reply of, “You were there, you were convenient. Didn’t mean anything to you, didn’t mean anything to me.”

The stone in his stomach sinks. “Oh. Right,” he says softly. “Okay. Um. Good, I guess.” It’s so far from _good,_ it’s not even funny, but he doesn’t know what else to say. He swallows. “Um, do you want to go upstairs? I was thinking I’d take a shower, maybe put on pajamas…” he hesitates, gesturing toward the stairs, and he tacks on, “It’s a water shower. You could join me.”

He says the last bit as sort of a plea.

Rey thinks about it for a moment, and he _thinks_ it’s good that she doesn’t give a quick _yes._ They haven’t showered together before, and if it was a casual thing, she wouldn’t really need to consider it, right?

“I’d like that,” she finally answers. She’s making firm eye contact with his chest when she says it, as if she can’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “But only because I like water showers.”

Ben pauses. He steps toward her, reaching for her, and he tilts her head up toward him with a finger under her chin. There’s a soft, but audible intake of breath through her slightly opened mouth, and his eyes flick to the source of the sound. Tentatively, he leans down, giving her an agonizingly long time to stop him before he presses his lips the corner of her mouth.

By some miracle, she doesn’t stop him. Her eyes flutter closed, and the last thing he sees before he kisses down to her jaw is the way her lashes fan out over the very tops of her freckled cheeks. He kisses along her jaw and down her throat slowly, trying to pour in the way he’s been desperate to kiss her for months. He sucks at her pulse point, nips at her with his teeth, and feathers fingertips along her arms. 

Maybe it’s crazy that he can remember the way she tasted the first time they kissed. For the life of him, he can’t be sure which of them made the first move, but he thinks it was her, and he remembers that she tasted of a sweet fruit wine she’d bought cheap off a street vendor. He remembers it wasn’t so much a kiss as it was two people pressing their smiling mouths together.

 _How_ could it have meant nothing?

They’d both been mid-laugh, sitting next to each other on the floor of their living room, backs resting against the couch. The first week of classes had wrapped up and even though they’d both been studying at GCU for three standard years, neither of them had made good friends, so they decided to celebrate their last _first week_ with cheap fruit wine, and one of them made a joke.

Ben remembers laughing, and his head feeling fuzzy, and he _thinks_ Rey leaned in first. 

It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was the first kiss that made him desperate for more, and it was the first one that kept his head spinning for months. Even now, his head spins the more he kisses along the top of _his_ shirt that she’s wearing. She makes a soft noise, and her hand curls into the front of his shirt as she tries to pull him closer, even threading fingers through his hair.

When it ends, it doesn’t really end. He stands upright, presses his forehead to hers, and he leaves a few more brief kisses to her cheeks, rather than end it entirely. He can feel her smile as time passes, and it’s minutes later before they finally split apart and look at each other.

Rey’s eyes are wide, and they dart over his expression, like she’s expecting to find the answer to an unspoken question written across his face. “I—we should—um,” she stammers, and then stops, turning a deeper shade of red before she schools her stunned look into something closer to unphased. Unaffected. She gives him a tight smile. “Shower?”

And maybe he _doesn’t_ know her—not as well as he thought, at least—but he knows her well enough to see the confusion in her eyes.

“Rey?”

“Hm?” She glances up, like she’s surprised he might have something to say. “What?”

Ben tilts his head. “Are you sure you hate me?” He says it quietly, trying to sound more curious than hurt or even doubtful. “Because, if you don’t,” he murmurs, “That might be okay.”

It’s odd, the way she winces. With a sigh, she says, “Ben, c’mon, give it a rest. I know how _you_ feel, and you know how I feel, so can we stop having this conversation? Or do you really hate me _so_ much that you’re specifically trying to torture me?” 

When Rey shakes her head and turns, walking toward the stairs, Ben realizes something. He stands there, open-mouthed and dumbfounded when he finally figures it out. It leaves him feeling like more of a fool than he’s ever been, maybe in his whole life.

He’s been telling her for most of the term that he hates her… and she might have believed him.

* * *

Maybe it’s desperation, or neediness, or longing, or _whatever,_ but Rey lets him kiss her again, though not on her lips, while shower water rains down on them. Her back presses to the smooth stone wall and water washes their travels—and her tears—away. It’s a blessing they’re in the shower, so he can’t tell she’s crying.

Maybe it’s silly, but she can’t _not_ cry, simply because… because Ben just doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know that it confuses her when he’s sweet and takes her hair down and washes it for her, detangling it with his fingers. He doesn’t know that her heart pounds just for the way he holds her face and cradles her against him, and he doesn’t know that it’s like being stabbed whenever she feels him smile against the skin of her neck or shoulders. He doesn’t know that when she mutters _I hate you_ between frantic kisses left along his jaw, she’s only saying it to both convince herself, and to prevent herself from saying the truth.

The bitter, awful, unrequited truth.

Later, after an awkward, mostly silent dinner shared between the two of them over a cheesy holovid, she falls asleep in his arms, in his bed, listening to him breathe.

But just before she drifts off, surrounded by his warmth, she admits three things to herself.

One— nobody will ever be able to break her heart quite like Ben Solo will.

Two— it’s far, far too late to pretend she doesn’t love him.

Three— she didn’t stop counting days when she left Jakku.

The difference is, while she was once counting the days until someone returned, now she’s counting down until the day he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of my pre-written chapters, but I don't anticipate long waits between updates. Ch 5 is mostly written, so I don't think it'll take long. Originally I planned on spacing out updates but I'm getting the impression a lot of people are looking for a distraction, so I hope this helps <3 Stay safe!

The next morning, Ben wakes up to an empty bed. It’s not a pleasant feeling. He’s woken up to an empty bed almost every day he’s known Rey, and he’s disliked  each and every one of those mornings. He sits upright, letting the light gray blankets pool at his hips, and rubs at his eyes, glancing around the room that’s brightened by large windows that overlook the lake he plans to take Rey to.

The pajamas he loaned her—the ones that were adorably large on her frame—are folded carefully and sitting on top of a divan of maroon velvet. Rey’s nowhere to be seen. The water in his attached fresher isn’t running, so for a moment, he’s stumped.

He’d hoped to take breakfast in bed with her beside him but it seems that isn’t going to happen. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to fool himself into believing she wants more than whatever it is they have.

Reluctantly, he climbs out of bed, tugging on a shirt before he goes downstairs. He wonders what Rey’s  wearing, if not his own clothes, but then he thinks he remembers a droid dropping her cleaned clothes off hours earlier, when he was half-asleep and tangled up with her.

Ben starts hearing the voices when he gets to the stairs.

“He gets that from me,” his mother laughs. “The stubbornness is his father, but… well, that might have been me, too.”

Someone groans, and when Rey replies, he realizes it was her. “You know he hid my plants? Up on a high shelf in his closet! I wanted to toss him out a window.”

“While I hardly blame you—and I mean it, I don’t blame you, he and Han have done similar things to me and it was tempting—please do me a favor and  _ don’t _ harm my son? I’m a bit fond of him, and I need him to come work with me once he finishes his studies. It’d be a pain in my ass if you hurt him. Besides, I’d hate to see a nice girl like you get into trouble for that.” 

From the bottom of the stairs, Ben snorts and interrupts, “Nice, mom.”

Leia looks up from where she’s standing in the dining area, giving him a smile. Rey’s seated, eating what looks like a bowl of  starblossom fruit, and his mother’s standing behind her, weaving her hair into a traditional Alderaanian braid.

His brows shoot up. “Wow, not twenty-four hours in and you’re braiding her hair? You planning the wedding, too?” Rey’s mouth falls open, which just makes him laugh. When he catches his breath, he gestures to the braid that’s half-done. “Did she tell you braids have meanings here? Be careful, we might end up engaged.”

“It’s not one of those,” his mother replies, sounding like she’s just been caught. “It’s just something simple.”

“Mm, definitely not a betrothal braid then? Because it  _ looks—” _

Rey interrupts, sounding faint, “Did you say betrothal?”

“It only counts if he braids it himself,” his mother mutters, “ And he knows that. Don’t let him tease you.”

“Oh,” Rey breathes out. Her shoulders sag with predictable relief at the knowledge that she won’t have to suffer being bound to him. “Oh, okay.” With a suddenly stern expression, she looks up at him and orders, “Don’t even  _ think _ of braiding my hair.”

Just the thought of doing so softens the knot in his chest, even though she’s ordering him not to. For some reason, he’d never considered braiding her hair. He’s been so desperate to kiss her, he hasn’t thought much past that. He’s washed her hair, though. It was tangled and took work and conditioning, but it’s —

His mother’s laugh startles him out of his daydreaming. “You’re very good at ordering around royalty,” Leia says. She grins up at him. “I  _ love  _ her.”

_ Me too, _ he wants to say. 

“You should stick around,” his mother tells Rey. 

_ Please, _ he wants to add.  _ Stay forever. _

Rey’s cheeks turn pink. She tries to glance up at his mother, but her range of motion is limited while her hair is being braided. “Um. Well. I’m staying for  break . I told Han I’d help with the Falcon. I’m sure  Unkar neglected it and made changes, so I’m staying to help fix that.”

He’s seconds from asking if that’s the only reason she’s staying, but his mother speaks first, which is probably for the best. “Ah, right, the Falcon,” Leia nods. She finishes off the braid with a few pins and steps away, admiring it for a moment before continuing. “Han left this morning to pick up some parts he said you’d need, but he said Chewie helped him put together a list of things you two can get started on.”

“You  _ two?” _ Rey blurts. Her eyes flash up to him. “You’re… helping me?” Then, lower, she mutters, “Won’t you get your hands dirty, your highness?”

The look on his mother’s face is one of sheer amusement. 

Ben blinks at the woman who both frustrates the hell out of  him and makes his insides melt with just a look or a touch. “You do realize I grew up helping my father with that ship, right?”

“Hm, was that the door?” his mother asks, in the most obvious voice he’s ever heard. “Yes, I think that’s someone at the door. I’ll be back.” She bustles out of the room, the grin on her face far from subtle, and murmurs dryly, “Play nice, children.”

And then it’s just the two of them, left alone in the kitchen while his mother pretends to greet a nonexistent guest.

He stares at Rey, the corner of his mouth quirking. “I’ve spent hours _ — _ lots of hours—helping repair that ship. I learned how to fly on that ship. I’d say this is more a case of  _ you _ helping  _ me.” _

_ Great, _ the voice in his mind sighs.  _ What a way to woo her. _

It quickly becomes obvious that Rey is not impressed. She rolls her eyes at him and says, “Whatever makes you feel better. Just try to stay out of my way, okay?”

Ben bites back a sarcastic reply. For a long moment they just look at each other, and when he finally does say something, it’s soft enough to surprise her.

“The braid suits you.”

Her brows pull together, as if she can’t figure out why he’s not playing their game, why he’s not biting back and letting their conversation spiral into their usual sniping. She frowns, and mumbles, “Don’t get used to it."

He hums, tilting his head toward her. “Wouldn’t dare.” 

* * *

Two hours in, Ben finally figures out what his father’s plan is. It’s not that Ben has no experience with working on ships—as he told Rey, he grew up helping with the Falcon, but normally his father would prefer to make the repairs himself. At best, he’s often willing to hand the reins over to Chewie, but the idea of Han handing his ship over to two university students with zero chaperoning…

It shouldn’t have taken him two minutes to figure it out, never mind two  _ hours. _

That afternoon, he’s patching up something he doesn’t even know the name of. Rey simply checked the list of needed repairs and walked him over to the hold where the life support systems are and pointed at a circuit board and told him to  _ fix it _ before storming off _. _ This section is a little out of his wheelhouse. Whatever he’s doing is mostly a best-guess, but from what he’s gathered, that’s the case with most of what’s been done to the Falcon.

He’s about halfway into replacing frayed wires with newer, more  thickly insulated ones, when he hears her yelling. His head whips in her direction, and he drops the wires, following the loud, angry swearing.

“Rey?” he calls out, rushing toward wherever she is.

“In here!”

Ben stops in the middle of the main hold, glancing around. She sounds closer, but the room is mostly empty, save for some boxes in a corner that he’s not tempted to open. “Where? Are you okay?”

He hears her hiss out another curse, and heads toward the noise. With a surge of relief, he sees an open doorway into what looks like a closet—the circuitry bay. 

For a moment, he just stops. His mother did her hair in a neat braid, wrapped around her head, and he hasn’t been able to stop staring whenever he sees her. Little wisps of hair are loose around her face. 

In the worst way, he wishes he’d braided it himself.

Then he sees the way she’s wincing and shaking her hand, and he grabs it from the air, pulling it close to inspect whatever she’s done. Rey makes a displeased noise, but he doesn’t let go. There are little burns across some of her fingertips, already blistering.

“What happened?”

She huffs. “What  _ happened _ is the disaster that is the wiring on this stupid heap of trash.” She grimaces when he brushes a thumb near one of the burns. “It’s no big deal,” she mutters.

It’s instinct, the way he lifts her hand and gently presses his mouth to her fingers.

Rey’s eyes widen, and  _ that’s _ when he figures out his dad’s scheme. He feels a little moronic for not noticing sooner, that the man specifically gave them time alone and had them work together. His lips curl up a little on one side, and he kisses her fingers again, then lets go of her hand.

“Come on,” he says softly, nodding to the open doorway. “There’s a med kit in the main hold.”

A flush grows across her cheeks as they stand there, and Ben notices a little smudge of grease near her jaw. Neither of them bother to move.

She looks  _ so _ pretty like this.

Finally, Rey clears her throat. “Sure. Yeah, I should get something on this.”

“Dad mentioned he restocked the med kit,” he nods, turning to walk toward the main hold. Rey follows behind him, and he adds, “There should be  bacta patches. They’ll help.” He gestures to one of the seats, “Go ahead, sit, I’ll get the kit.”

Whether she’s not talking because she’s in pain, or because she feels the tension between them, too, or if it’s just because she doesn’t want to talk to him, Ben’s not sure. But he can’t bear to leave the burns on her fingers without tending to them, so he takes advantage of the fact that she seems okay with him helping, and grabs the med kit off one of the walls.

Rey takes in an audible breath when he kneels in front of where she’s sitting and takes her hand again. It’s possible that he goes slow on purpose, carefully cleaning each burn before  unpackaging the patches and placing them. It’s  _ possible _ he kisses the tip of each of her injured fingers after they’ve been bandaged.

She stares down at him the whole time, as if she’s confused by what he’s doing.

Ben glances  up and tilts his head. “What?”

“I just—” her mouth closes, and she frowns. “Why are you being nice? What do you want?”

He sits back on his heels. It’s starting to get a little  frustrating that she doesn’t seem to be able to understand—or, maybe more accurately, that she doesn’t  _ want _ to understand. Slowly, he replies, “I don’t want anything. Or… well, that’s not true. I want us to get on the same page.” He sighs. “I don’t want you to hate me. I can’t handle you hating me.”

Her expression hardens. “I’m not sure what to tell you.”

“Rey,” he says softly. “Why do we need to—”

“Stop.”

The words die in his throat. He works his mouth for a  moment and tries a different tactic. “Could we at least call a truce?” 

For a moment, it seems like she’s considering the idea. “A truce? What sort of truce?”

Ben pauses. It’s… not really what he wants, but it’s an improvement, right?

“Maybe we could be friends?” he suggests. “Or, at least you can stop pretending you hate me. Even just while we’re here, if that’s what you want.”

Her eyes flick to his when he says that, and her lips purse. “What makes you think I’m pretending?”

He whispers, a little afraid of the answer. “Am I wrong?”

Rey studies him for a long moment. “Truce. Just for the break.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” he points out.

She shakes her head. “I don’t plan to.”

“Isn’t that  kind of an answer in itself?”

Her mouth  opens, and then closes into a frown. “Want to have sex in your bunk?”

His brows raise at her forwardness, and there’s a good chance he blushes. Just as he’s about to give a predictable  _ yes please, _ he pauses. “Are you just trying to distract me so I won’t keep pestering you to answer me?”

A slow grin spreads over her mouth. “Is it working?”

Ben snorts. “Apparently, yes.” Just before he takes her hand and drags her off to what is effectively a closet, he asks tentatively, “You are pretending, though, aren’t you? You don’t really hate me?”

“Of-of course I do, I—” 

She  stops and takes in a long breath as he tugs her closer, brushing his nose along hers. “No, don’t lie. I don’t buy it, Rey,” he whispers. “Not for a minute. I thought  _ maybe _ you did. When you kept your distance, kept avoiding me, I thought you did. But I don’t hate you, and I don’t think you’d be with me like this—” he kisses her cheek, and murmurs against her skin, “If you hated me.” 

Rey breaks away from him, pushing off from his chest. 

“I don’t hate you,” she blurts. Her eyes flick up to his. “I don’t hate you, because I agreed to a truce, but the  _ minute _ we get back to Coruscant, things go back to normal.”

While a stone sinks in his stomach, he asks dryly, “Really? That’s what you want? You want everything to go back to normal after our break?”

Her jaw sets. “Yes.”

When she turns and walks off toward his bunk, Ben wonders if she realizes how obvious it is that she’s lying.

* * *

They wrap up a not-so productive afternoon on the Falcon when his father calls for them from the bottom of the entry ramp. Ben’s careful to control his blush at them being interrupted, and leaves the bunk first, giving Rey time to dress and flip back to pretending she’s only putting her hate for him on hold due to a truce.

At least, he thinks she’s pretending. He  _ hopes. _

He gives his dad a curious smile as he leaves the Falcon. “I thought you and Uncle Chewie were getting parts.”

“We were,” he nods, narrowing his eyes. He gives a little laugh and says, “Might want to fix your hair before we go inside. Your grandmas aren’t that oblivious.”

Ben stills. “ _ Grandmas?” _

Right on cue, and before his father can explain, Rey rushes down the plank, clearing her throat. “Han. You’re back.”

Han’s mouth curls into a grin as his gaze darts between the two of them. “Didn’t need to go far. Might still need to replace a fuel line, but we’ll see.” He hesitates, clearly trying not to smirk or laugh again, then finally says, in a quiet, knowing voice, “Uh, why don’t you two take the side entry in. I’ll go in the front and say hi. Buy you two some time to get cleaned up and changed for dinner, yeah?”

Briefly, Ben’s not sure why he’d suggest that. Then he glances over and notices Rey’s braid is a disaster, probably from his own hands, and  _ kriff _ he left a mark right at the front of her neck. No wonder his father knows exactly what’s been happening on his ship. 

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Ben winces, asking again, “Did you really say  _ grandmas?” _

“Mm, right, I did,” his father laughs. “Great timing, hm? They came together—Padmé’s been here with the Nabooian senator working on something with the Queen, I guess, so she stuck around and the two of them ended up showing up, maybe an hour ago. I’m surprised your mother didn’t come get you.”

Next to him, Rey pales. “That would explain the knocking I thought I heard,” she says faintly.

Ben groans, wiping a hand down his face as his father’s quiet laugh turns into a loud, barking one. 

* * *

Somehow nobody else catches them, and nobody but his father gives them a knowing grin, even when they both show up to dinner  late with freshly showered damp hair. His mother  _ does _ frown at Rey’s lack of braid, but doesn’t ask how it came undone. It’s a huge relief, and Ben starts wondering how he’ll thank his father. He’s sure the man had a hand in covering for them.

Since hearing the word  _ Queen, _ Rey has been… well, ‘frantic’ seems like the most accurate word, and through an entire shared shower, Ben still didn’t manage to convince her that his grandmothers are far more likely to tell embarrassing stories about him running naked through the palace as a child than they are to scold Rey for using the wrong fork.

The only seats left are next to each other, directly across the table from where both his grandmothers are sitting, swapping glasses of white Alderaanian wine as they sample a couple of bottles his mother’s put out.

“There’s my grandson!” Grandma Padmé greets, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a big smile, just like the one his mother has sometimes. Her hair is mostly gray now, but it falls down her back in shiny waves. Her eyes light up when she sees him, and Ben can’t help but smile back.

She was mostly retired when he was  young, and spent lots of time during his childhood keeping him company while his parents were off becoming both famous and infamous in their careers. Grandma Padmé’s the one who taught him how to cook, helped him practice his calligraphy, and tucked him into bed with Nabooian fairy tales when his parents were working late.

Ben doesn’t hesitate to ignore the chair that’s waiting for him. He walks around the table and leans down over where she’s sitting, hugging her tightly. It earns him a laugh, a few  _ awws _ (probably from his mother), and, of course, his grandmother promptly uses the opportunity to mess up his hair.

Next to her is his Grandma Breha, technically his adoptive grandmother, but given the weirdness of his family’s history, they don’t really distinguish between biological and adoptive relatedness. That’s one of the first things he had a professor ask him about once they learned that he was  _ the _ Ben Solo—how, exactly, his mother could be considered the rightful heir to titles on Alderaan when she was adopted. 

It’s  kind of a non-issue, and oddly, it took someone  asking for him to even think about it. Breha is just as much his grandmother as Padmé, and luckily, the two get along as though they’re sisters. 

Ben hugs Grandma Breha next, and it’s nowhere near a proper greeting for Alderaan’s Queen. Luckily, she’s in loose, casual clothing, which confirms that tonight is just a family dinner, and not a Royal Family Dinner. The only way anyone would know her status is by the grand way her hair is braided through with fabric, giving it thickness as it wraps over her head. 

A throat clears politely, and Ben notices his Grandma Padmé tipping her head toward Rey. Her voice is a little amused and a  _ lot _ curious when she asks, “And who’ve you brought to dinner, Ben?”

“Is she the one we’ve heard so much about?” Breha asks through a grin, sipping at her wine.

By the time he gets around the table to pull a chair out for Rey, and then take the seat next to her, Rey’s cheeks are an adorable shade of red, and she’s stammering through  a, “Oh, um, hi, I—sorry, should I be addressing either of you as—”

Ben squeezes her knee under the table, interrupting softly. “Rey, these are my grandmothers.” He glances to them, hoping he’s conveying how much he needs them to  _ not tell embarrassing stories, _ and says, “Grandma Breha, Grandma Padmé, this is Rey. We’re… roommates, at GCU.”

A slow, saucy smile spreads over Breha’s mouth. She leans toward Padmé. “What did I tell you about sending him to University?”

“Am I  _ always _ going to have to say it?” Padmé laughs. “You were right. Happy?” The two of them share a conspiring look, as though they have some sort of inside secret. “But which one of us suggested letting him… how did Han put it? ‘Rough-it’ in a student apartment?” 

Breha hums. “Yes, that’s a good point.” She glances over at Padmé, and they clink glasses while Ben watches them, wide-eyed. “Call it a team effort?”

“Ah, diplomacy,” Padmé sighs through a grin.

While his father’s busy laughing, and while his mother works at her second glass of wine, like she usually does when  _ both _ Grandmothers are around, Ben’s mouth falls open. “Excuse me, are you suggesting you sent me to study at GCU so I could… what? Find a girlfriend?”

Padmé’s amused smile turns on him. “Ah, and here I thought you introduced Rey as your roommate.”

“I—Well—I mean — _ kriff _ _.” _

His mother either chokes or laughs into her wine glass.

Both grandmothers share another amused glance. 

Ben gazes sideways at Rey, hoping for a little backup, but the blush has drained from her face. She blinks, and then says carefully, “For the record, I am  _ not _ Ben’s girlfriend.” Then dryly, and to his horror, she adds, “And to be perfectly honest with you, and maybe a little blunt, if you sent him to university to find a partner, you may have been better off teaching him how to not be such a  nerfherder first.”

The room goes quiet.

And then it breaks out into laughter.

“Between the Skywalker side and whatever he inherited from his father, there was no hope,” Padmé sighs dramatically, giving Rey a hilariously sympathetic smile. “He was doomed, right from the start, to be a  nerfherder . I’m sorry dear, it’s a family trait.”

“Mm, get the girl some wine,” Breha laughs, gesturing toward the open bottle. “Sounds like she needs it. I think poor Han had  _ more _ than a few drinks upon meeting all of us, I’m sure Rey could use at least one.”

They pour her a glass, and Rey dives so smoothly into a laughter-filled conversation with them, it’s like she’s been doing this her whole life. Ben can only stare, mostly in shock, as she tucks her drying waves behind one ear and wrinkles her nose with laughter, leaning forward to joke and chat with his family.

It’s the  _ oddest, _ most surreal thing, seeing Rey trade jabs with his father, hearing her complain about his bad habits as her roommate while his grandmothers crack up, and it hits him somewhere around the middle of their second course—a fruit and cheese plate—that he’s never seen her smile like this, not since that night they bonded over fruit wine.

Ben thought he was in love with her before, but he was thoroughly unprepared for  _ this. _

Unfortunately, the other thing he notices is something quite a bit less heartwarming. He doesn’t figure it out until the meal’s almost done, but not  _ once _ does he hear her share anything of herself, or her history. Conversation stays light, and any time someone asks her a question more personal than her choice of study, she finds a way to redirect the question, change the subject.

He spends half the meal staring at her, watching her nose wrinkle as she laughs, memorizing the way her eyes flutter closed as she takes a bite of a fruit she’s probably never had, studying the way her mouth curls up, and wondering why she’s so averse to sharing anything about herself.

More than once, his mother catches him staring. She’s always been the type to sit back and observe when forming opinions on someone new, but so far it just seems like she’s watching  _ him, _ and not Rey. The third time he realizes he’s been caught, he gives his mother a tiny shy shrug, as if to say  _ yes, you’ve caught me, but can you blame me? _

All she does is smile fondly before pouring herself another half-glass.

A minute later, Leia clears her throat, putting a halt to the current conversation topic—how Rey  _ absolutely must _ come visit his grandmother Padmé on  Naboo , because apparently the lake there has a sandier beach—and Leia says, not-so-subtly, “Moms, weren’t you discussing star charts earlier? I might be misremembering, but didn’t one of you mention needing to make adjustments to your antique charts?”

Ben frowns. Why anyone would need antique star charts is anyone’s guess—things like that are more commonly in museums. They certainly aren’t  _ used. _

It’s not surprising when both of his grandmothers spend a moment looking befuddled. Then his mother leans in, adding, “You know, your star charts? Don’t you think  _ Ben _ might be able to help with observation for them? Maybe Rey, as well, since she’s here? I’m sure she’d be an excellent resource. Isn’t it the right time of year for observation? Why not put them on it, since they’re here for the month?”

Breha looks even more confused at that. Padmé tilts her head, and then says, “ _ Ah, _ of course, the star charts, how could I have forgotten.” It’s the least subtle thing Ben’s ever seen, but she elbows the woman next to her, murmuring, “Remember, Breha? Your star charts?”

“I really don’t— _ ohhh _ _ ,  _ of course, the star charts,” Breha nods, schooling away her confused expression. “Yes. I’m sure they could use updating.”

“Mm, that would require lots of observation,” his mother asks. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” She glances over, giving him a quick wink while Rey’s busy frowning at his grandmothers. “You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Ben’s not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to, because he knows relatively little of astronomy, save for what he needs to know to pilot the Falcon, but it seems clear that they don’t  _ actually _ need him to do some big task. “Uh, sure,” he shrugs. “Why  not? ” When Rey looks over at him, he shrugs again. “Would you mind helping? It might be interesting.”

“I’m not sure how I could help,” she frowns. “I don’t know anything about—”

“Oh, you need to help,” Padmé interrupts. “Don’t sell yourself short, I’m sure you’d do an excellent job with it.”

“They both would,” Breha nods, giving Padmé a grin. “And this project is of the  _ utmost _ importance.” She plasters on a very serious expression—one that’s so fake Ben almost rolls his eyes, except they seem to be trying to help him, so he’s maybe a  _ little _ thankful—and she adds, “All it involves is checking the current charts against the night sky as it is now and noting any places that need adjusting. My official astronomer can do the rest.”

At the end of the table, his father huffs a laugh, but doesn’t comment. When Ben looks over, the man is grinning like he’s just won a lucrative game of  sabacc . The  _ rest _ of the table seems to be holding its breath, waiting for Rey to answer.

Slowly, she replies, sounding mildly suspicious, “Okay… I suppose that doesn’t sound difficult.”

“Excellent,” Padmé claps, smiling broadly. “You should get a start tonight.”

“Mm, I can have a page bring the star charts over,” Breha says over the rim of her glass. “I’m sure someone can get them here within an hour.”

Acting as though it’s just the two of them, his grandmother Padmé glances over at her, nudging at her shoulder. “Problem solved, then?”

Breha nods. “I’d say so.”

With a laugh, Padmé mumbles,  _ “Diplomacy,” _ and the two women clink glasses again, sharing a knowing look.

Ben can only blink and wonder what, exactly, just happened.

It’s a minor consolation that Rey also seems confused.

* * *

One thing he’s learned is that the women in his family tend to get their way. Specifically, when one of them has made up their mind on something, she  _ will _ see it through, and it  _ will _ happen, no matter what must be done. Even if getting her way involves a page hand-carrying a ridiculous pile of star charts that nobody’s used in who  _ knows _ how long, and which would be more useful as scrap paper for starting a manual fire.

Ben has a million questions about this little project his grandmothers and mother have concocted. 

If he and Rey are meant to sit out in a field in the dark of night to observe the stars—as his grandmother specified—how, exactly, are they meant to see the charts clearly enough to note necessary changes? Since  _ when _ is he an expert on the stars? Since when does anyone care about these charts? Who’s even using these charts to begin with, and why have they not simply commissioned new ones? Why are they not just using a datapad or holo? Surely there must be someone more fit for this task than him? 

Of course, he doesn’t bother verbalizing any of this, for one specific reason: he’s pretty sure he could dump these charts in the lake, return empty handed, and they wouldn’t care.

It’s a ruse. 

Normally he might be annoyed to be sent out on a task under false pretenses, but as he lays back in the grassy meadow not far from the house and hears Rey sigh softly as she looks up at the stars, Ben’s  _ far _ from annoyed.

Grass brushes at his bare neck, and he props his head up on his hands, glancing over at where Rey is matching his position. In the bright moonlight, he sees her running her hand along the top of the grass. Her nose wrinkles up, almost as it did when she was laughing.

“What is it?” he asks quietly. 

“Grass,” she murmurs. “It’s weird. Kind of itchy, but also… nice? I don’t know.”

“You’ve never seen grass?”

“What, you  _ didn’t _ see all the grass on Jakku?”

Ben lets out an exasperated breath. “Point taken.”

“Mm. So, about your grandmothers,” Rey continues on, as if she’s fine with just glossing over her fairly brutal history on the desert planet. “They’re completely full of  bantha fodder, aren’t they?”

He huffs a dry laugh, no longer wondering why Rey hasn’t mentioned the star charts sitting untouched a few feet from them. “You noticed, too?”

“Ben. I think the  _ dinner _ noticed. I would have thought a person would need more subtlety to be a Queen.”

Silence falls between them, and the void gets filled with the pounding of his own heart and the quiet croaking noises of frogs that live in the marshy area at the edge of the field. The breeze has died down enough so Ben’s not cold in his usual non- Coruscanti outfit of fitted pants and a loose sweater, but beside him, he notices Rey shiver.

Normally it wouldn’t be so hard to just reach out and pull her close. He’s touched every part of her, held her plenty of times before, but somehow, in light of their  _ truce, _ it’s not so easy. In some ways the truce is a wonderful thing—she doesn’t seem outwardly angry with him, isn’t hostile, but in other ways it’s not really an improvement. 

As confident as he may have sounded, Ben doesn’t know for sure that she doesn’t truly hate him. Maybe she doesn’t.  _ Hopefully _ she doesn’t. But does any of their current closeness count if it’s only a farce of what he really wants?

“You’re thinking very loudly,” she murmurs. Her head lolls to the side, and blades of grass trail across her freckled cheek as she looks at him through moonlit eyes. “Not that I can hear thoughts or anything,” she drawls lazily, then sighs. “You’re just… let’s just say you’re not the enigma you might think. I think.”

He almost wants to laugh at that. He’s never tried to be one, never  _ wanted  _ to be one. Not with her , and yet, he’s sure she hasn’t managed to figure out how he feels about her, no matter how obvious he is.

Curious, Ben meets her eyes and mumbles, “Speaking of enigmas. Over dinner, I don’t think I heard you say a single thing about yourself.”

Her eyes narrow. “I’m a private person.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She hums. “Plus, nobody wants to hear about the realities of a life on Jakku, or what it’s like to get used to a planet like Coruscant, especially when you’re a scholarship student. Your family seems nice, don’t get me wrong, but when people ask you to tell them something personal, they want to know the easy stuff.”

“What do you mean?” 

He wants so badly to know  _ everything, _ but doesn’t ask. She wouldn’t tell him, anyway. 

Rey studies him for a moment, frowning slightly. She gives a little shrug. “Over dinner, they would have expected me to talk about the easy things. My classes, how  _ terrible _ it is living with you,” her mouth quirks up as she says that, “what I love about Coruscant, things like that. They don’t want to hear that I still wake up at the smallest sound because I’ve grown up being on alert for someone trying to steal my things. They don’t want to hear that it took me months to get used to the food in the dining halls, and that it was so rich and abundant that it made me ill.” In a whisper, she adds, “Nobody ever wants the  _ bad.” _

“What if someone wants everything?” he murmurs, feeling his heart pound in his throat as he meets her eyes. “What if they want to hear all of it?”

Something flickers over her expression. It’s not hope, not quite. More like longing.

“Nobody does,” she finally says.

And maybe it’s the most foolish thing he’s done. Maybe it’s the smartest. Ben doesn’t give himself long enough to figure out which before he breathes out, “But I do. I want to know all of it. I want to know you. All of you.”

It may as well be a declaration, and Rey looks startled by it. “I—what? No, no, of course you don’t,” she argues. “Don’t  _ say _ things like that.” She looks almost annoyed, maybe even verging on being angry with him.

“If you don’t believe I might want to know you, why bother with me? Why be with me? Why… why would you even kiss me that night? Obviously I didn’t mind,” he adds in a rush, “but you  _ are _ very private. Some might even say… closed off. So, was it just the wine?” he offers, giving her an out. “Or was it something else?”

Briefly, he thinks she’ll deny she was the one who kissed first. Surprisingly, she admits it, her voice hushed and maybe a  _ little _ defensive. “It might not have been the wine.”

Ben finds her hand, spread out on the grass between them. He caresses a finger over the back of it, prodding, “What was it, then? I had no idea you hadn’t kissed anyone before that.”

“Hadn’t done a lot of things,” she mutters, confirming his guess. She sighs. “If you really want to know, you were the first person at GCU who made me feel like I wasn’t alone. Don’t let that go to your head or anything,  _ obviously _ I misread things, but—” 

“No you didn’t,” he interrupts softly. “You weren’t alone then, and you’re not alone now.”

“Not right now, maybe, but I will be,” she whispers. 

His brows draw together. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” she mutters. “Never mind. That was… nothing.”

“Rey—”

She sits up and stretches her arms, faking a yawn. The movement pulls her hand away from his. “You know, I’m so tired. Long day. I think I’ll get some sleep.” 

“Don’t you think we should talk about this?” Ben asks, desperately wanting her to stay. “Rey, really, I—”

“No, I don’t think we should,” she replies firmly. She looks over at him, her expression resolute. “I agreed to a truce while we’re here, but that doesn’t mean we should talk about any of this. We’ve already said too much, and there’s no point in saying anything that one of us will regret when we get back to Coruscant.” 

“What could you possibly regret saying to me?” he asks softly. There’s a little flare of annoyance at the way she rolls her eyes, and he blurts, “Why is it so hard for you to talk about whatever this is? That’s not asking for much, I just want you to talk to me, tell me how you’re feeling. Why can’t you just—why can’t you just  _ open up for once in your—” _

Rey interrupts with rigid, biting words. “The first and last time I opened up to someone, they told me it meant nothing. Sound familiar? You may as well have told me _I_ meant nothing.” She pushes up on to her feet, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, and spits, “So the next time you want to know why I’m maybe a _little_ less than comfortable being vulnerable around anyone, stop pushing me for answers and go find a kriffing mirror.”

There’s a flash of something in her eyes. Fear, he thinks. Fear, at whatever it is that she just admitted. Fear, and a lot of sadness. Wide-eyed, he waits for her to say something, but she just shakes her head, turns, and starts walking back to the house.

He’s too stunned by her words to chase after her.

By the time he collects his thoughts and gets back to his bedroom, she’s asleep.

Rey’s curled up into a tight little ball on her side of his bed, her knees almost to her chest.

She looks small. Almost fragile, though he knows she’s anything but. He changes and climbs into bed next to her, knowing he’d do anything to go back in time and redo that morning.

If he hadn’t been so scared, he would have held her, would have kissed her, would have told her he thought she was perfect even with fruit wine on her breath and her messy hair splayed over his pillow. He would have kissed every one of her freckles. He should have.

Ben curls around her now, and if it wakes her, she doesn’t move or say anything. She’s sleeping heavily. He presses his mouth to the back of her shoulder, and whispers against her skin, “Rey, I lied. It meant everything.”

For a long moment, the room is silent.

Ben closes his eyes, kissing her shoulder one more time before he tries to sleep.

* * *

It’s almost half an hour later, when his breathing slows and deepens, and when he tightens his arm around her in his sleep, that Rey slowly opens her eyes. She sniffs, wiping her cheek against the blanket, and nestles back into the warmth he offers. His words echo over and over in her mind.

_ Rey, I lied. It meant everything. _

For the first time in a while, that stabbing, painful feeling that comes from being close to him, is dulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	5. Chapter 5

When she wakes, it’s like she’s coming out of a warm, happy dream. Like the dreams she had when she was young, before she accepted reality—the dreams where her parents showed up at her AT-AT after she had a long day of working in the blistering sun... the dreams where they lifted her up and spun her around, crying happy tears that they’d finally found her and could bring her home.

She and Ben must have shifted during the night, and rather than him being curled around her, her limbs are strewn over him. One of her legs is tossed over both of his, and her torso is half on top of him. Both arms are up around his shoulders.

Ben’s awake, lazily stroking a hand down her back.

Slowly, Rey tilts her head up toward him, readjusting a little so she can meet his eyes. His words from the night before trickle back into her mind, and she tries to prepare herself for the cruel chance that they were just a dream. 

But there’s a look in his eyes she’s not sure she’s seen before. Something hopeful.

She speaks first. “Did you mean it? What you said last night, about you lying?”

Surprise flickers over his face. “You heard that?”

She nods.

“Oh,” he exhales. “Um. Good, because I think I need to clear something up.” When she doesn’t respond, he moves, taking her with him until he’s propped up against a pillow and she’s in his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. His hand cups her face as he continues. “When you moved into the apartment, I think I liked you the minute we met. The more we talked, the more it felt like you were the first person who liked me as just _Ben,_ and when I woke up next to you that first morning, I could barely remember what happened and I—I was _so_ scared of screwing things up that… that I _really_ screwed things up.”

He stops, grimacing. “That sounds like a terrible excuse. I don’t know what to say except that I’ve never hated you.” 

It’s like her breath gets sucked from her lungs.

“When you said you hated me that first time,” he murmurs, “It felt like the world was ending. It hurt so much, I blurted it back, and _kriff_ that was horrible. I never thought you’d believe it. I see why you did, now, but—”

Rey tries to keep the accusation out of her voice when she interrupts, but it seeps in anyway. “If you didn’t hate me, why antagonize me? Why play games?”

“Because it was the only way you’d talk to me after what I did,” Ben whispers. “I know how that sounds. It’s awful and childish, but I was so desperate to be with you and be around you, and you wouldn’t talk to me, not like we’re talking now. After a while I resigned myself to never being anything more than someone you hated.”

He caresses over her cheek with his thumb. She doesn’t miss the way his eyes water when he finally says, “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am. That night meant everything to me, and so has every minute since. I should have said it sooner.”

They’re such pretty words, but he said pretty things that night, too.

Rey meets his gaze and lets out a long breath, asking with a thick voice, “How am I supposed to trust any of this? I want to, _believe_ me, I do, but… but you see why I’m unsure, don’t you? You’ve spent an entire term making me feel like I’m someone you despise, like I’m _nothing_ to you, like I’m someone who’s only good enough to—”

“Please don’t say that,” he interrupts quietly, sounding horrified. “You have to know none of that’s true.”

“I don’t, though.”

Ben winces, almost like her words have struck him, even though they were said softly. For a minute, he only considers her before he nods, just once, and says, “Can you give me until the end of this term break? Maybe it’s more than I deserve after everything, but I want to try to fix this. I promise, if you still don’t believe me or trust me by the time we get back to Coruscant, you can go right back to hating me.”

It’s terrifying to admit, but she whispers, “Ben, I’ve never hated you. I’ve wanted to, I have, but—” Her voice cracks, and she resorts to shaking her head while she tries to blink the tears from her eyes. “But I can’t.”

As he holds her face, the breath he takes in is audible and shaky, and Rey’s never wanted to kiss him so much in her life, not even during that first time she kissed him.

Still, she doesn’t.

* * *

They fall into a careful, uneasy rhythm. Each morning they wake in each other’s arms, no longer avoiding the way they gravitate toward each other during sleep. They detangle their limbs, or sometimes they don’t and just tangle further until they’re panting against each other’s skin. They have breakfast with whoever’s still in the house by the time they make it downstairs, then start on the lengthy list of still-needed repairs Rey agreed to help with.

They have _moments._

She’s hesitant, that’s obvious, but Ben sees the little quiver of her bottom lip when they return to his room after dinner one night and she sees the small table he set up by a window, covered with her succulents. While she gets close and inspects them, he tells her of how the gardener found that they were root-bound and has since transplanted them into larger pots and tended to them. Ben thought she’d be happy, but he never expected she’d be wiping away tears. He never expected the hug.

She’s holding back, but he doesn’t miss the faint blush that spreads across her cheeks whenever they’re walking side by side and he takes her hand, threading his fingers through hers. He doesn’t miss how the corner of her mouth tilts up when he stops to lift her hand to his mouth so he can kiss it.

She seems _so_ nervous to get attached to his family, but he sees the way Rey smiles when his Grandma Breha asks if she can braid her hair. He watches one morning after breakfast as his grandmother delays their work on the Falcon, gently shaping Rey’s hair into a crown braid. 

That morning, Rey meets his eyes as he sits across the table from her, not hiding whatever fondness is in his gaze. She swallows when he murmurs, “It looks beautiful like that.”

Grandma Breha grins from behind Rey, and then looks over at where Grandma Padmé’s sitting at the head of the table, and gives her a wink. That’s all the confirmation he needed to know the two have _plans,_ not that he’s surprised.

“What, you don’t like the buns?” Rey asks, her tone a little teasing.

“I like you any way.”

They share a lingering look, until someone—one of his grandmothers, since his parents have both left for the day—clears their throat. 

Padmé says, not-so-subtly, “I think you two deserve a day off. It’s lovely out. Take a day off from working on that rust-bucket.”

“Don’t let Han hear you calling it that,” Rey laughs. “I called it a pile of garbage and I thought he’d threaten to toss me out of it mid-flight.”

“He wouldn’t,” Padmé snorts, shaking her head. “My son-in-law’s too much of a sap, he wouldn’t dare. But I mean it, take the day off. Go have a picnic, or go swimming. Enjoy your break! You’ve spent the whole time working. Besides, Breha and I need to leave for the palace once we’re finished with breakfast, so you’ll have the whole day to yourselves.”

It’s a great idea. One he very much wants to agree with, but Rey hesitates, replying, “We shouldn’t. There’s such a long list of repairs, and—”

Grandma Breha jumps in at the perfect moment, just as she finishes off Rey’s braid. “Queen’s orders,” she tuts. “Nobody argues with the Queen, not even the Queen’s son-in-law. Padmé and I say take a day off. If Han has a problem with that, you send him to us.”

When Rey glances at him questioningly, he shrugs. “She’s right, nobody argues with the Queen. It might even be a crime.”

Breha gives him an approving smile.

* * *

It’s warm—at least, it seems to be warm by Alderaan’s definition of the word—when Rey sits on the edge of a study wooden dock, tentatively dipping her toes in the water. After Ben’s grandmothers left for the day, the two of them took their breakfast in front of a holovid, while still in sleep clothes. Her mind is still spinning with everything that’s happened over the break, but the way Ben held her as they spread out on his parent’s couch during the holovid was _so_ grounding. Stable, even. Promising.

Now, just a little past noon, Ben’s mostly bare, down to black shorts made specifically for swimming, and he’s standing between her knees. He’s up to his stomach in the water, coaxing her to join him.

“The water’s warmer than the air,” he promises. His mouth curls into that hint of a smile—the smile she’s learning is _not_ a mocking one. “It’s not even that deep. You won’t be over your head.”

It isn’t that she doesn’t _want_ to get in. She does, of course. It’s just that—

“I can’t. I don’t have a bathing suit,” Rey blurts, giving the first excuse she can think of.

Ben quirks a brow. He leans in, resting his forearms on her lap, and looks up at her. “Rey, there’s nobody here. Nobody’s going to _be_ here, not for hours. You can swim in underthings. They cover just as much, if not more, than a bathing suit.”

She tries again. “I don’t know, I think I saw a fish, and I’d really rather not bother them, so—”

He interrupts her with a quiet laugh and puts his hand on hers. His expression softens. “You haven’t gone swimming before, right? I promise there’s nothing to be worried about. There are fish in here, but they don’t usually come in the shallow parts, and they never bother people. I’ve been swimming in this lake my whole life and fish have never bothered me.”

Rey glances at the water and swallows. It’s clear as glass and the bottom looks kind of sandy, but it’s a lot of water and it’s all in one place, and…

And she still _really_ wants to know what it’s like. 

She presses her lips together and gives Ben a suspicious look. “You swear you won’t let me drown?”

“Never,” he breathes.

“And you _promise_ the fish won’t be an issue?”

Ben is clearly trying not to laugh again, but he manages to suppress his smile, and gives her a very serious, “I promise to defend you from the fish.”

She bites her lip, scrunching up her face as she works up the nerve. Nodding, she wastes no time, pulling her tunic over her head. It gets balled up and left on the dock. She lifts her hips, and Ben helps her peel off her pants, leaving her in a pair of plain underwear and a breastband. It’s been weeks since she’s worn the arm wraps.

Rey gives the water one more nervous glance, but before she determines whether she should just drop in or get up and walk in from the shore, Ben holds out his arms to her, as if he plans to help her into the water himself.

For a moment, that scares her more than the lake.

Her eyes flick to his face, to those warm eyes, to the mouth that whispered _it meant everything._

And slowly, she scoots closer to the edge. With her hands braced on his shoulders, she lets him grip her waist and pull her in to join him. The moment she hits the water, she shudders and squeezes her legs around his hips.

“You said it was warm!” she hisses.

Ben frowns. His hands grip her ass, lifting her into a more comfortable position. “It _is_ warm.”

“It is _not_ warm,” Rey argues. “It’s like Hoth in here!” She wraps her arms further around his neck, keeping tight to him, because if she drops into the water she’s going to be _freezing._

“Hoth? Really?” he laughs, nudging his nose against her cheek. Then, softly, he says, “I’ll keep you warm. Do you want to just stay like this and get in slowly, while you adjust?”

Rey huffs, even rolls her eyes a little, pretending like she doesn’t sort of love being in his arms. “I guess that’d be fine.”

His only answer is the press of his mouth to her temple. Slowly, he starts stepping backward into deeper water. Every step back is coupled with more kisses left on her cheeks, nose, chin, jaw. Rey’s eyes flutter closed. Her mouth twitches up into a bit of a smile, and she lets the bridges of their noses slide against each other.

A gentle silence settles out around them, only broken by the calming sound of water moving around them, lapping softly with the breeze.

Just as Rey’s working up the courage to press her lips to his, Ben murmurs, “There. How’s that?”

She blinks her eyes open, and she’s a little startled to realize the water’s up around her shoulders. “Oh,” she blurts, looking around at the water, almost in disbelief. “I—I didn’t even notice.”

When her gaze goes back to him, he doesn’t seem surprised.

His arms are still tight around her, but he offers, “If you want, you can touch the bottom here. It’s sandy, and you won’t be over your head. Maybe up to your neck?” He kisses her forehead again. “Did you want me to show you how to swim?”

Part of her is content to stay right where she is. His hold is firm and safe, and it’s giving her an excuse to touch him. It’s the closeness she’s always craved. His skin isn’t marred the way hers is, and as her eyes slide over his chest and shoulders, Rey finds she just wants to _touch._

At that thought, she takes in a steadying breath. “Can I… Can I just stay here for a moment? Do you mind?”

Ben hums. “ _Mind?_ No,” he laughs. “No, I don’t mind.”

Maybe it’s silly to be so hesitant, so nervous, but for some reason she is, even though they’ve touched each other countless times. It just doesn’t feel the same. Something’s different as she slides her hand down from around his neck and traces a path over his collarbones. Her eyes follow her fingers as they brush along the skin of his throat, following a trail her mouth has made dozens of times. She feathers over his cheekbones, over his brow, down his nose, along his jaw, and Ben stays perfectly still, watching her curiously.

She swallows when her eyes land on his mouth. Her fingers still, right at the edge of his lips.

The temptation to touch him there with something other than her fingertips is overwhelming. Ben tilts his head a little to the side, as though he knows what she’s thinking and is patiently awaiting her decision. She stares at his mouth for what feels like ages.

Then he turns his head, just enough to kiss her fingertips.

“Why don’t I teach you how to swim?” he offers, and oddly, she’s relieved. 

The nerves fluttering in her belly relax.

Quietly, she says, “Okay.”

* * *

A few hours later, his fingertips are wrinkled from the water. Once Rey got used to the temperature and the feeling of having water all around her, she adapted well—he even managed to teach her two different kinds of swimming strokes before she realized she could splash him. Lessons went a little downhill after that.

Ben can’t keep the smile off his face. 

Now, shower water falls down over them, warming them up and rinsing the lake water off their skin. Rey started shivering the moment they got out of the lake, so now he holds her close, under the steaming water of his shower. He should be washing his hair (or hers), but Ben can’t stop thinking about how she touched him, so tenderly, almost like she’d been wanting to for a while. 

“Do you think we can go again tomorrow?” 

He blinks, her words bringing him out of his thoughts. “Hm? Swimming? Of course we can.” When he glances down at her, her eyes are _so_ wide, _so_ full of hope, that he can’t stop himself from adding softly, “Rey, we can go whenever you want. And… not just during break.”

He hopes she understands what he’s saying. He hopes she knows he’d take her wherever she wants, he’d _give_ her whatever she wants, surround her with green plants, commission a private garden for her, take her swimming every day.

“I’d like to go again tomorrow,” she finally replies, hesitating before continuing with, “Unless your father wants us to do more work on the Falcon.”

Briefly, Ben thinks of his father’s not-so-subtle grin every time the man sees the two of them together. He snorts. “I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Rey nods, then tilts back in his arms, putting her head under the stream of hot water to rinse her hair. She took the braid out earlier, mid-way through their swim, and he had to bite his mouth closed to stop himself from begging her to let him take it down for her. Maybe she’ll let him braid it later.

“You’re being… very nice,” she murmurs, her eyes still closed while water streams down, rinsing through her hair. “I have a question, though.”

“Hm?” He’s a little too distracted staring at the length of her neck, and at the rivulets of water that run between and over her breasts.

When she opens her eyes and notices his obvious staring, her mouth quirks. It’s only a slight movement, but her shoulders shake, as if in silent laughter. His eyes flick up to hers, and the amusement in her expression fades into something serious.

“Are you just being like this so I’ll trust you?” she asks in a whisper. “I’m sure I’m starting to sound paranoid, but you have no idea how worried I am that this is an elaborate game. Like maybe you really are that cruel person I thought you were, and you got bored with messing with my plants and decided on something worse. I don’t want that to be true, and I don’t think it is, but I won’t lie—it's a concern.”

His heart breaks, just a little, at the way her voice cracks. 

Rey swallows, her gaze landing somewhere around his chest, and adds, “I _want_ to trust you.”

Nodding with understanding, Ben sighs. He lifts his hand to cup her face, lifting her head so he can press his forehead to hers. “I’m not sure what to say,” he replies. He hesitates, working his mouth while he thinks. “I could spend _so_ long promising you this is all genuine,” he finally says. “If I could go back in time and change things so you’d never need to wonder if this was a game, I would, but I can’t. If there’s anything—is there? Is there anything I can do?”

There’s a long pause, and then her voice comes back, barely audible over the sound of the water hitting their skin and the shower tiles at their feet. 

“Touch me?”

Ben takes in a slow breath, wondering if he’s misheard.

“I just…” Rey starts in a hush. There’s a flush across her cheeks. “Sometimes you’re better at showing than you are at telling.”

His grip on her tightens.

Ben’s never thought much of the corner bench in his shower. It’s never seemed very useful, not until he backs up, pulling Rey along with him. He sits, leaning his back against the tiled shower wall. The hot water has filled the space with warm steam, and it’s a sharp contrast to the cooling dampness of the wall behind him. Rey doesn’t hesitate to follow him, straddling his thighs. Her breath comes out warm against his shoulder, in little pants as he cups one of her breasts, teasing and tugging at her nipple.

She lifts up on her knees, palming him, and positions herself over him. They’ve never done it like his. Not in a shower, not with her in his lap like this with their chests pressed together, not with shower water streaming down over them as she works down his length.

Normally he’d take quite a bit more time getting her ready, teasing her until she needed more, but she seems to need _this._ Ben holds her face in one hand, nudging her nose with his, and with the other hand, he squeezes her hip, helping her lower onto him slowly. It’s mind blowing and perfect, and all he can think about is the way her mouth opens to let out a breath.

Just as Rey presses all the way down onto him, shuddering softly, he murmurs, “I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I do right now.”

It might be the most honest thing he’s told her.

For a long moment, she just stares at his shoulder, going still with him buried all the way inside her. Her cunt squeezes around him, and his fingers dig into her side as his breath catches. 

Rey’s gaze lifts to his.

She almost looks afraid. Maybe not afraid, but certainly nervous. Her eyes drop to his mouth, considering it, but his mind is already made up. When she slowly leans in, he stops her. It’s gentle, with a hand holding her chin, and his thumb sliding along her bottom lip. Rey frowns at him, but he can only give her a small smile. 

“No… no, that’s okay. The next time you kiss me, I want it to be because you’re sure,” he whispers. Oddly, he’s not disappointed at interrupting her tentative leaning in—it’s hard to be disappointed with her in his lap, and something about it feels right. He grins as her eyes narrow at him, and he clarifies, “The next time we kiss, it shouldn’t be because it’s what I want. It should be because you want to kiss me just as badly as I want to kiss you.” He presses his forehead to hers. “The next time you kiss me, be _sure,_ because when you do, I won’t let you go.”

Rey leans back, looking at him with wide eyes. Her expression goes from something confused to something soft. 

Something hopeful.

* * *

After a surprising amount of cuddling and a lazily put-together dinner of fruits and cheeses, Ben puts the finishing touches on a braid Rey let him put in her hair. Just as he’s loosening a strand or two to frame her face, a gruff throat clears from the doorway. It’s his father, probably annoyed that someone dared to watch a romantic holovid and not invite him. Ben tucks a pin into the braid, and glances over his shoulder, nodding to the man. “You’re home. Long day?”

Han’s eyebrows are somewhere near his hairline, but otherwise he looks pleased. “Hey kids,” he greets. “Yeah, long day. Chewie’s already taken over the guest room.” He pauses, muttering, “Not sure why we bother calling it that when the furry lunk’s the only one who sleeps in there. Anyway, your mom won’t be home for another hour, meeting ran late.” He nods to Rey, who gives him a brief wave before turning back to the screen, yawning in the process.

“Ben, you think I could talk to you?” Han asks curiously. He gestures to the doorway. “Maybe out there?”

The thought of leaving Rey’s side isn’t pleasant, but she yawns again, then says, “Go ahead, I think I’m too tired to finish the vid tonight. Maybe we can pick it back up tomorrow.” She leans back, turning to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to go upstairs. Too tired. Swimming’s more tiring than it looks.”

Ben smiles, letting his nose press into the side of her face as he leaves a goodnight kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Take your time,” she sighs sleepily, standing to stretch.

When she’s out of the room, Han walks around a section of the couch and drops down onto the cushion. He glances over at Ben, almost like he’s holding back from asking whatever it is he wants to ask.

“So…” he starts slowly, folding his arms over his chest as he clearly tries not to smirk. “Courting braid, huh? She know about Alderaanian braids?”

The corner of Ben’s mouth quirks. “She knows about that one.”

“Huh. You taking her to the palace?”

“I invited her, yes. I don’t think she’s thrilled about the idea of a dress, nor the mention of dancing, but she liked that she’ll get to see the palace, which is great, because I think—” he stops, noticing his father’s tired expression. He _knows_ Ben’s babbling, and he’s just waiting for Ben to get to the point of what he needs to say. Ben hesitates. “Can I ask you for something? Um. For advice?”

Han smiles a little. “Sure, kid. ‘Course you can.”

Choosing his words carefully, because he doesn’t _really_ feel like telling his father how he first messed things up with Rey, he says, “If you hurt someone, and gave them a reason not to trust you… how could you convince them that you care about them, and that you’re not just playing games?”

“You tell her you love her?” Han asks bluntly, as if he knows the answer. “Because you should, if you do.”

“Uh. No. I _might_ not have said the actual words yet.”

“Oh, c’mon kid,” the man groans, dropping his head back against the back of the couch. “You’re killing me. Why haven’t you told her?”

“I sort of did? Not exactly, but sort of?”

His father gives him a _look._ “You _sort of_ told her you love her? Is that like how you _sort of_ blew up the droid that used to do our laundry when you were a kid?”

“That was an accident!”

“Sure it was.”

Ben rolls his eyes. With a quiet sigh, he admits, “I cleared things up, and she knows I never meant to hurt her or make her feel like I didn’t care about her, but I got the impression she was unsure. Maybe not unsure… nervous to trust me?” He pauses. “Things are obviously much better, but she’s holding back, and I don’t want to push things if she’s feeling kind of cautious, you know? Does that make sense?”

“From where you sit, I guess,” Han nods. “Do you want my advice?”

As much as he’d like to say he doesn’t, and that he’s miraculously developed the ability to read Rey’s mind overnight, neither of those things are true. “Yeah,” Ben finally says. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know where to go from here. I just keep doing nice things for her, hoping that works.”

Han’s mouth flattens, and he huffs. “You could do that. Won’t hurt, and you should make an effort to do that anyway. Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I don’t just bring home things for your mom or cook her dinner when I’ve messed up. Showing someone you love them is a thing you do every day.”

He pauses, scratching at his neck, and asks, “You want to know what she’s probably thinking?” On Ben’s nod, Han glances around, as if to make sure they’re alone, and then he leans in, putting his forearms on his knees. “You’re wondering why she’s leery about trusting you, right? She’s been left alone before, kid,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Don’t you think she’s scared she might get left again?”

At that, Ben blinks. “What? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, you’re acting a little like you assume she’s gonna’ react to stuff the same way you would.” Han shakes his head. “She won’t, kid. She’s been through a whole different set of stuff. You gotta’ understand, you two don’t have the same things that keep you up at night, you don’t have the same things that make you insecure.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Ben frowns.

“There’s a difference between accepting an apology and trusting someone again, and her trust probably won’t come easy.”

When Ben gives him a desperate look, like a silent cry for help, Han sighs. “Look, let me explain something to you. I love you kid, but let me say something kinda harsh. You’ve never wanted for anything, right? Don’t get me wrong, every good parent hopes to raise a kid that’s never gone hungry, never gone _without._ It’s not a bad thing, but you’ve got to understand, there’s a difference between helping your dad out by working on a ship, and working long, hard days in a desert just so you can eat.”

Han stops, glancing over him, but Ben doesn’t reply. He’s too busy being horrified by the reminder of Rey’s old life. 

With a quiet click of his tongue, Han continues. “I’m not saying pity her— _kriff,_ don’t pity her, she’ll toss you off a cliff—but I _am_ saying you’ve got a lot left to understand about her. You two have different understandings of how things work. If you screw up, no big deal, right? You got parents who’ll help you out, love you no matter what. But she didn’t.”

His father’s voice gets softer. Sadder. “I guarantee, that kid’s been in scrapes where if she screwed up, it was life-or-death. When you’ve grown up like that, trust doesn’t stretch far. Believe me.” 

At the quiet shake of his words, Ben’s eyes widen at the reminder of just how much Rey and his father have in common.

“Might be good if you start thinking more about that,” Han says finally, “You cleared things up, and that’s good, but if I were you, I’d be crystal clear with that girl.”

“You’re suggesting she might be hesitant to trust me because she’s afraid of being hurt? Because she’s been hurt before? I can understand that, but why wouldn’t she just tell me? If she _told_ me that, I could reassure her, and—” 

“I love you to death, kid,” Han interrupts, wiping a hand down his face. “I really do, but you’re missing what’s right in front of you. Look at this from her point of view. As far as she knows, she’s someone not even her own parents cared to stick around for.” The man looks over at him, almost sympathetically. “Ben, you’re a prince. A _real_ gonna-run-a-planet-someday prince. Got a pretty perfect life. Got parents who’d give you the world and do anything for you. You could marry a princess, a woman who’s grown up never wanting for anything, who wouldn’t even hire Rey as a servant.” 

Han stops, and sighs quietly. “So, look at this with her eyes and tell me, why would a guy like _you_ stick around for her if her own parents wouldn’t?”

“Because I love her,” he breathes out.

His father sighs again, this time with relief. “Yeah, exactly,” he laughs humorlessly. “So stop being a nerfherder, kid, and go tell _her_ that. I know it’s scary, and I’m guessing you haven’t said it before, but if you love her, you’ve got to tell her.”

Ben’s throat bobs. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	6. Chapter 6

_Rey, I’m sorry I haven’t said it earlier, but—_

He stills halfway up the stairs, frowning despite the way his heart pounds. He can’t start it like that. She doesn’t deserve to hear this shoved between the apologies he owes her. 

Ben’s somewhat sure his father is actually watching him head up toward his room, probably ready with an encouraging grin, just in case Ben glances back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he continues up the stairs.

He makes it as far as his bedroom door and stops, letting out a wavering breath before the pacing starts. He tries to convince himself that he doesn’t need a big speech or anything—he just needs to tell her the truth. She deserves to know the truth, especially after everything he’s said. 

Knowing that doesn’t stop his mind from running through the dozens of failed scenarios where it turns out that Rey _doesn’t_ feel the same way.

By the time he nearly chews through his lip and forces himself to open his bedroom door, it’s too late. Not _too late_ in any sort of dramatic way, just in an anticlimactic one. 

She’s asleep.

The temptation to wake her up is there, since he’s finally convinced himself to tell her, but when Ben sees how she’s sleeping, he can’t bring himself to.

Unlike almost every night he’s shared with her, tonight she’s draped across the middle of the bed—mostly on his side—sleeping on her back. There’s a soft, sleepy hint of a smile on her mouth. It strikes him, heartwarmingly so, that she’s not curled in a tight, protective ball. Her limbs are stretched out in the way someone only sleeps if they know they’re safe.

Rey is utterly relaxed, as far as he can tell. Something in him doubts she’s ever slept so heavily in her life.

He sits carefully at the edge of the bed, on the side he’s come to think of as hers, and he leans down, brushing his fingers over the braid he’s never put in another woman’s hair before. When he slips his hand into the small one on his pillow, her fingers gently curl around him as if holding his hand is a reflex, but Rey’s slow, soft breathing doesn’t change.

The first time he says _I love you_ , he whispers it to the silent room, just as he kisses her forehead.

* * *

For the first time in their weeks of break, Rey wakes with a startle. It isn’t the gentle sunlight streaming in through a window and pricking at her eyelids, and it isn’t Ben rolling over in his sleep to cuddle her that wakes her up. It’s the knocking.

The very loud, very insistent knocking.

She jolts upright, breathing rapidly as if she’s just woken from a nightmare, though she’s only slept peacefully while wrapped up with the man next to her. Of course, he _also_ wakes from the sound, but his reaction isn’t one evolved through years of sleeping in an unsafe space. Ben grimaces in the door’s direction, not even opening his eyes before he buries his head in her side.

“Go back to sleep,” he mutters sleepily.

The knocking continues, accompanied by Han’s uncomfortable morning greeting said through the closed door: “Hey kids. Uh. Not to interrupt, but there are a couple’a Queens here—well, _one_ Queen, and Padme, too—they want to see Rey. You kids awake?” 

She relaxes at the reminder that she’s somewhere _safe,_ and Ben tightens the arm around her waist, furthering that feeling. His hair, messy from sleep, tickles at the bare skin of her stomach when he drops his head into her lap, mumbling against her belly, “Make him go away.”

A quiet laugh leaves her mouth. Rey smiles down at him, at where he’s holding her and sleeping on her like someone might a large pillow. She runs a hand through his hair. 

Han knocks again, this time quieter, and asks again, “Kids? Gotta tell you, they wanted to come right in and bring you breakfast as some kinda ruse to steal Rey away for the day, so it might be easier if you come out soon. Dunno if you remember, but we’re supposed to head to the palace in the next few days, and they were thinking we could go today. S’almost noon, y’know. I’ll be downstairs, but I’m guessing if you don’t come down, they’ll come up. ”

“Noon?” Rey snorts. She caresses the side of Ben’s face and says softly, “Ben? Ben, we should wake up. I don’t know how, but we slept really late.”

“Don’t care,” he sighs. His eyes aren’t even open, but he kisses whatever part of her skin is by his mouth—it happens to be her lower belly, right above the cotton of her sleep pants. “Staying. You, too. Don’t want you to leave.” He kisses her stomach again, and murmurs, “Stay. Stay forever.”

Something in her melts a little. 

Rey blinks back welling tears as she stares down at where he rests, not fully awake. She swallows, whispering, “Believe me, I’m thinking about it.”

Whether he’s fallen back to sleep, or whether he just doesn’t respond, she’s not sure.

* * *

Rey’s overwhelmed the _minute_ the Grandmothers get their hands on her. That’s how she’s come to think of them—it’s a little too intimidating to think of them by their titles, so _the_ _Grandmothers_ is just the right amount of intimidating, even though the two of them are not-so-subtle (thought well-meaning), and hilarious. 

The very moment she steps foot into the kitchen, they sweep her right away, only giving her about half a minute to say goodbye to Ben before the three of them leave.

She lags behind, of course, letting Ben keep an arm around her waist while she smiles up at him, not really wanting to leave without him even if she _does_ like his grandmothers. His thumb caresses at her back, through her tunic, and a throat clears, but neither of them bother to split away. He only gets closer. For a moment she hopes he’ll kiss her, but somehow the way his mouth brushes her temple is even sweeter.

When another throat clears, she gives him a little smile and a lingering goodbye kiss, left at his cheek when Rey remembers that the best time to kiss his mouth is likely not while they’re surrounded by his family members.

On the way out, she shoots both Ben and Han a joking look that probably screams _save me,_ but then Padme laughs and says something that turns her expression into one of true horror.

“Oh don’t worry,” Padme laughs, “We’re only taking you for a dress fitting.”

“A _dress_ fitting?” Rey asks, trying to make it sound like a question and not a swear. Judging by Breha’s laugh, she’s failed.

“Yes,” Padme says, grinning over at her as they step outside, walking toward what Rey now recognizes as the Queen’s personal shuttle. “Don’t worry, the others will follow behind later today, Leia in the next hour, and the men not long after, but _they_ don’t need a dress fitting. We have quite a few dresses for you to try. Whichever one you pick will get fitted in time for court.”

There’s quite a bit to process there. At her clueless expression, Breha laughs again and asks, “My grandson invited you to the palace, didn’t he?”

“He… did, yes.”

“Mm, and did he explain why?”

It doesn’t seem prudent to mention in front of the Grandmothers that she and Ben were less than fully dressed when he mentioned it, and therefore, she wasn’t really paying much attention. Rey only gives a little shrug and a vague, “I don’t think so?”

“Alderaan’s Equinox is coming up,” Padme explains, her smile brilliant. “Personally I prefer Naboo’s fireworks, but I suppose the House of Organa puts on a good show.”

Breha hums. “Naboo’s fireworks _are_ more colorful, but yes, people have been preparing the palace for weeks to get ready for the Equinox Gala, and as I notice my grandson’s put a courting braid to use, I think we should make sure to dress you appropriately.”

Padme halts in her tracks and turns, her eyes going wide. “Is that what kind of braid it is?”

Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised this came up, but Rey flushes red at their knowing and approving looks. She stays quiet, letting Breha answer for her, “It is. Our grandson’s a smart man, isn’t he?” The woman takes Rey’s arm in her own, patting her forearm as they board her shuttle. “Women here tend to keep their hair quite long for all the braiding we do, but personally I’ve always found shorter hair like yours very flattering. You have more flexibility with it, you can let it down more comfortably, you know? And Ben managed such a nice braid with it—it’s lovely like this.”

“Thank you,” Rey manages. The overwhelming amount of compliments and kindness from them is all a bit much to handle.

Both of them gaze at her with fondness.

It makes her wonder what life might be like with grandmothers—with family—who care. 

* * *

“Oh, heavens no, not that one,” Breha sighs, waving her hand at a terribly gaudy silvery monstrosity, as Rey attempts to turn in it. “It’s too… garish.”

Padme nods in agreement. “Looks more like the decorations than a dress.”

“Mm, exactly.”

Rey sighs. She also hates the dress, but this just means she’ll need to try another one.

Almost an hour earlier, the Grandmothers ushered her off the shuttle and into a private entry to the most incredible structure she’s ever seen—the palace, Rey assumes, but nobody’s offered a tour. They seemed more interested in playing dress up. Now, they’re sharing a black velvet couch and a bottle of Alderaanian wine, watching her like she’s some sort of entertaining holovid. 

This is dress number _four._

Dress number one, also known (at least in Rey’s mind) as “a lifetime of meals in flamboyant orange,” was itchy and blindingly bright, so much so that it hurt to look at, like a sun in dress form. Dress number two was fine, maybe a little tight and a plain deep green, but the Grandmothers veto’d it, calling it bland and boring. Dress number three was the first she refused to put on as the sheer amount of feathers made her sneeze half a dozen times in the span of thirty seconds.

Rey sighs again, turning back to the massive closet of dresses, but Padme stops her, saying with a curious tone, “Wait. Rey, what sort of dress do _you_ want to wear?”

She pauses. After a moment, she turns back to them and gives a hesitant, but honest reply, “I’ve never worn a dress. I’m not sure I like them. They’re very large. Or, maybe not _large,_ but they’re not easy to move in.”

“Mm, I was wondering,” Padme nods. She glances to Breha and hums. “How would the Queen feel about something… perhaps a bit unusual? If Rey’s wearing a courting braid done by the Prince, it wouldn’t be so bad for her to stand out a little, would it? Especially given that she’s not of Alderaan. The girl can’t be expected to wear only Alderaanian fashion, can she?”

Rey perks up at the brief hope that she may get out of wearing a dress. Some of them are beautiful, and it isn’t that she doesn’t like the way she looks in them—the issue is, so far they’re all uncomfortable and restricting. She could barely breathe in dress number two. 

There’s a twinkle in Breha’s eye. “And what sort of fashion did you have in mind?”

Padme grins. “Well, how do you feel about something in black?”

Not twenty minutes later, Rey’s sighing not from exasperation, but from relief at the outfit Padme’s assembled for her. It’s sharp, breathable, loose everywhere except where it’s cinched at her waist. There’s just the _one_ downside.

She nearly chokes on her tongue as she sees the mirror. 

“Something wrong?” Padme asks, frowning. The woman brushes at where the fabric lays over her shoulder. “It fits you perfectly. We won’t need any alterations, but would you prefer something else?”

Rey purses her lips, letting her gaze lower to the surprisingly deep v of the outfit’s neckline. “Um, is it not too revealing? It’s… very low. Am I really not meant to wear a breast band under this?”

The two pieces of black fabric over her shoulders create plain but wide straps, and they span over her breasts, but they don’t join until the spot where the outfit cinches at her waist. From there, it splits into roomy, swishy, drapey pant legs that look almost like a skirt when she stands with her legs together. 

Breha laughs. “Oh, you should see the things some women wear to the Gala. This covers far more than most dresses.”

“This is how it’s meant to be worn, but does it make you uncomfortable?” Padme asks, her face turning more thoughtful. “We can certainly find something else, though... this does look stunning on you.”

She swallows, glancing to the mirror again. Her clothes have never been chosen for their appearance, though she’s careful to keep them clean whenever possible. Normally anything she’s worn has been picked primarily for its ability to protect her and keep her either warm or cool, depending on which planet she’s on. Living on Coruscant hardly changed that; as a scholarship student, she’s lacked the money to buy clothing that appealed to the eye.

Before, when she was in the dresses, Rey barely recognized herself. The girl from Jakku disappeared into a woman who wore fancy fabrics of bright colors that would stand out dangerously in the desert. Or worse, she looked like a scared child playing dress-up.

Now… maybe it’s the plain black fabric, or the lack of lace or shine or baubles, but she sees _herself._ Not a scavenger, not exactly, but a more polished version of herself. 

All the strength, and none of the fear. Sharp, angular lines, coupled with soft curves that were always hidden under a tunic. Wisps of her hair, free from the braid, frame her face, and her cheeks are pink with a natural blush, and—

The woman staring at her in the mirror is beautiful.

Rey takes in a steadying breath and glances over at Padme, who’s smiling at her, as though she knows Rey’s thoughts. “This is perfect,” she says. “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”

From the couch, Breha claps. “Wonderful! Now we only need to teach you to dance.”

She blinks, then blurts, _“Dance?”_

* * *

By the time he finally walks into the palace, followed closely by his father, Ben is _itching_ to see her. They haven’t spent an entire afternoon apart for the whole break, and he’s had to suffer an hours of his father being amused by just how annoyed he’s been at being separated from Rey. Why they didn’t simply arrive at the palace with her and his grandmothers, Ben’s not sure. He even tried leaving with his mother, but she laughed him off and said she had a meeting.

Simply put, he completed approximately _none_ of the work he and his father planned to do on the Falcon this afternoon. He’s spent the whole time pacing, annoyed by everything.

He goes right from the grand entry to a shortcut he knows of that will cut his walking time to the family's residential wing in half, bypassing the mess of people preparing the Grand Ballroom for the Equinox Gala. 

There are dozens of palace staff members rushing around with dining chairs and giant masses of ribbon and silks for decorations, and if he gets too close, he’ll either get roped into royal duties by one of his grandmother’s advisers, or someone will ask questions about the rumors that are probably already going around about the _prince_ bringing home a girlfriend.

As much as he wouldn’t mind talking about Rey, he’d much rather see her.

With a laugh, his father follows right behind him, saying, “Kid, would you calm down? Be patient, we’re almost there.”

“Where’d mom say they were?”

Han snorts. “She found’em in Padme’s guest room. Said they were trying to do Rey’s nails.”

At that thought, Ben comes to a screeching halt in the middle of the rarely used passageway. His father almost topples over him, but Ben ignores the huff the man lets out. He turns and asks in disbelief, “They were doing her _nails?”_

“Apparently. Make-up, too.”

“Kriff, she must have been pissed.”

His father stifles a laugh. “Sounds like your mom rescued her. The four of them had lunch brought up, so they’re probably still in the family wing. Maybe in the lounge? I figure we can go, maybe you can take her on a tour?” His voice gets quieter, a little more knowing, “Maybe talk to her? Notice you’ve been twitchy today. Haven’t told her yet, hm?”

It’s _impossible_ to get anything by the man, but Ben’s not sure he wants to hide this, anyway. They continue on to the family wing, and he admits, “She was already asleep last night. This morning… well, you were there. Things were rushed. It wasn’t something I wanted to just blurt out as she was leaving.”

“Mm,” his father nods. “Makes sense.”

Just those two words reaffirm things for him. Even if he rolls his eyes at Han’s advice, he’s still glad for it. Ben lets some of the tension in his body relax. He wants to do this right, especially after doing so much _wrong_ where Rey’s concerned. 

After a quick turn or two and just a _little_ rushing that his father doesn’t comment on, they arrive at the lounge that joins most of the family’s bedrooms. The shortcut is one rarely used by anyone but his grandmother’s advisers when they’re in a hurry, and while it isn’t exactly a secret passageway, most don’t know of it. There are lots of stories Ben’s heard that concern his mother as a girl, causing trouble and avoiding the more obnoxious people around the palace by putting the passageways to use, and he’s been told by many an adviser that he reminds them just a bit too much of her.

The exit they come to is about twenty feet to the side of the proper entrance into the room. When the two of them come out from between two tall bookcases, his mother spots them, and shakes her head in amusement, as if she knows exactly why he was in such a rush.

The room isn’t large for the palace, but it’s massive compared to anything he’s grown used to on Coruscant. The apartment he and Rey share could fit neatly inside it. Late-day sunlight streams in through the wall of windows as the sun sets over the lake, casting a rosy glow over everything.

They arrive just in time to see his grandmother Padme attempting to readjust Rey’s posture—her _dancing_ posture. There’s soft, rhythmic music playing, and Ben stops short, clapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his laugh. His mother’s playing the part of Rey’s dancing partner, and the two of them look a mixture of tired and annoyed that his grandmothers are correcting every step they make.

His mother’s never been much for dancing, and it seems Rey isn’t either.

Next to him, his father huffs a laugh. “Hey, sweetheart,” he greets Leia, while obviously trying not to grin, “Why don’t I cut in, hm?”

The look Leia gives him is dry. “We’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Oh, _perfect,”_ Grandma Breha claps, giving them a smile as she waves them over. “Ben, see if you can help Rey out. You’ve always been good at this. I’ll work with your parents. I’d like to see you all dancing at the gala—no more hiding away in the corners and no more sneaking off. There’s no excuse!” 

Ben laughs at that, and swoops in to steal Rey away from his mother. She’s barefoot, which isn’t the _best_ way to practice, and wearing her usual pants and tunic rather than a dress, which would move differently, but he likes her better this way. She fits into his arms perfectly, sighing as she drops her head to his shoulder and groans. 

His grandmother’s not paying any attention to them—she’s busy scolding Han for his questionable hand placement, and Rey’s voice is quiet enough so only he can hear her words as she mumbles, “I am _so_ bad at this.”

“There’s not much point in being good at it,” he shrugs. “If it’s not fun, it’s a waste of time. I promise, as soon as we’re done here, I’ll show you around. We can get a picnic’s worth of food from the kitchen and watch some holovids, just us?”

She lifts her head then and gives him a little smile, and Ben can’t help but drop his more formal posture in favor of wrapping both arms around her waist. It pulls her closer, like a hug, and Rey’s smile widens as she reaches up to hold his shoulders.

With a quick glance to make sure his grandmother is still not paying attention, Rey says in a hush, “This is much better. No offense to your mother, but I prefer dancing with you.”

“Good,” he laughs, swaying them as they turn in a slow little circle. “If we’re being honest, I’m glad you don’t prefer formal dancing—I’ve grown up going to these galas and nobody at them would dance with me like this. This is _much_ nicer.” 

Oddly, her smile falls. There’s a flash of something in her eyes, and her lips purse, almost like she’s holding back a scowl. Her voice is stiff as she replies, “Well. I’m sure the women you’ve met at those galas were talented dancers.”

It’s so absurd, it takes him a moment to realize what’s suddenly ticked her off. Her cheeks are flushed, and she won’t even meet his eyes by the time he asks, dumbfounded, “Are you jealous?”

“You wish,” she mutters.

Ben can only blink in surprise. “No, I don’t,” he says softly. He tugs her a little closer while they continue to sway, and he says honestly, “It’d be a waste of your time to be jealous of anyone. I hope to never dance with anyone but you.”

“Oh.”

Her expression softens, and he feels her lean into him a bit more. After a moment, they’ve slowed to the point of not moving at all, and Ben reaches up with one hand to cup her face. He’s nearly forgotten there’s anyone else in the room. His mouth opens—the words are on the tip on his tongue, and something about the way she looks up at him tells him she feels it, too.

“Don’t you two look sweet,” his grandma Breha sighs, snapping him out of the little trance he was under. His cheeks burn as he glances over, rolling his eyes a little at the Queen, who continues, “I suppose I’ll let your form slide, but it’s only because I like Rey, and because she’s put up with us old ladies all afternoon.”

“Mm, speaking of, I think we’re going to take a break. I thought I’d show Rey around. We’ll meet you all for breakfast tomorrow?”

He expected them to be displeased with the clear implication that he and Rey would be skipping out on any official dinner, but both grandmothers _and_ his parents seem happy about his announcement. Ben wonders if perhaps he’s underestimated how much they like Rey, but he doesn’t take much time to consider it—as soon as his grandmother gives him a nod, he’s headed toward the door to a passageway that leads to the kitchens, tugging Rey along with him.

With any luck, he’ll tell her tonight. 

* * *

_Overwhelming_ isn’t the right word for everything, but Rey’s head is spinning too much to put much more thought into how the day’s gone. Entering the palace—just approaching the palace—was a lot like stepping into a new world, much like her first arrival on Coruscant had been. The Grandmothers didn’t give any official tour, but they brought her to the heart of the city, the stunning Royal Palace that’s really more of a compound than whatever she was expecting. 

After an entire afternoon there, Rey’s convinced everyone keeps a map on them, because she’s not sure how else they avoid getting lost. 

If the buildings themselves weren’t breathtaking enough, they’re surrounded by gardens and orchards and trees, and it’s all so much like something out of a fairy tale. It’s all so much like the stories of enchanted made-up places she used to tell herself as a child in hopes that she’d dream of something happy for once.

Ben grew up here, she realizes, as he quietly guides her through a blooming garden. The whole area is full of scents of flowers that are entirely exotic to her, and Rey can’t even bring herself to say anything. Whether it’s the brilliance of all of it that’s taken her breath, or the realization that _this_ is his normal, Rey’s not sure.

It’s all a little too much.

She stops in the middle of the garden, catching her breath, and feels him squeeze her hand.

“Do you want to go back to the family wing?” There’s a little concern in his expression. “My family’s having a formal dinner, but I was hoping we could do something private? Maybe over a holovid?” he prods. “Something more normal?”

Rey laughs humorlessly. “None of this is _normal.”_ She glances over at him, nodding. “But, yeah, that’d be good. Today’s been a lot. I’m not sure I could handle a formal dinner on top of dress fittings and dance lessons.”

His mouth quirks, and he squeezes her hand again, tugging her toward the giant transparisteel door they came through. “I hope my grandmothers weren’t awful. _Please_ tell me they didn’t steer you toward a dress you hate.”

“No, not at all,” Rey reassures, following him through a hall she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been in yet. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all made from the same stone, and unless she’s lost her mind, the elevation changes as they walk. Finally, she stops, frowning at the floor. “Why are the floors in these hallways uneven? I’m sorry if that’s rude, but these hallways are strange.”

Ben hums, giving her another nod. “They aren’t for public use, not really. Some of them are cut directly into Mount Aldera. The family, and _maybe_ advisers use them as shortcuts, but they don’t get much use. I just figured you’d prefer going this way, to avoid anyone who’ll have questions.”

“Questions?”

He gives her an amused look as they resume walking. “Yes, questions.”

“Questions about what?” she presses.

“You, primarily. Or… _us._ ” He hesitates, and asks, “You realize you’re the first woman I’ve brought home, don’t you? I’ve never brought someone to one of these galas. Given your braid, people will assume things and likely have lots of questions. Not bad ones,” he adds in a rush, “They’ll just want to know more about you.”

Rey grimaces. “I doubt anyone would like what they find.”

They arrive at a door, and as Ben shoves open, he frowns at her. “I’d argue that. I think they’ll like you quite a bit.” He pauses, and his mouth twitches up on one side. He leans in and gives her one of those looks she has trouble deciphering. “Not that we need anyone’s approval.”

She doesn’t reply, isn’t sure how to reply, so she only smiles back, and lets him lead her out of the passageway. Miraculously, they’re back in the lounge that she’ll always not-so-fondly remember as the hellhole where the Grandmothers tried to teach her to dance. 

Now that the sun’s set, the moon leaves a subtle warm glow over the lake outside. Rey walks up to the windows, staring out at it with wide eyes. The thought that people live here, live like this, that there’s even a world in the galaxy that allows this sort of beauty and peace, it—

Warm arms wrap around her, holding her while she stares. Ben props his chin on her head, not saying anything as he lets her take it all in. There’s so much to absorb, so much she still can’t figure out, and most of it pertains to the man whose arms she’s in. She’s barely processed the reality that she’s free of Jakku— _free,_ free of Plutt, free of the desert, free of wondering where her next meal will come from, free of wondering if she’ll ever find companionship or even just someone she can trust to not steal her things.

Just _that_ is nearly impossible to process, but now she’s been thrust into a life that couldn’t possibly be more different from what hers has always been.

Where there was once sand, there’s now rich, verdant fields split by lakes and rivers and trees. Where there was once a sense of trepidation, now there’s curiosity. Where there was a despairing, overwhelming loneliness—

Ben sighs softly. He’s holding her so closely she can feel his chest rise and fall when he breathes.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll decide to live here, once I’m representing Alderaan,” he murmurs. “I know my parent’s reasons for living apart from the palace, but when I take my mother’s role in the senate, I could live here, or have my own home built.”

She can’t fathom either option. She can hardly fathom _having_ options. Still, she asks, “Which do you think you’ll choose?”

Ben’s quiet for a long moment. Just as she’s about to prod for an answer, he whispers, “Whichever would make you happier.”

Her initial reaction is to assume she’s misheard, but Rey knows she hasn’t. She could replay his reply exactly in her mind, down to the smallest quiver in his voice as he said it. The words register, the _meaning_ behind them, the intention there—it registers, and the breath she takes in is shaky as she turns around in his arms, pressing her hands to his chest.

The way he looks at her is the same way she looked out at the beauty of Alderaan.

His eyes are soft, knowing. 

She takes in one more breath and lifts up on her toes. His gaze goes a little wider, his hold gets a little tighter, and just as she’s about to kiss him, he interrupts her. “Wait,” he says softly. His eyes drop to her mouth, longingly, but he continues, “I told you, the next time you kiss me—”

“You said you wouldn’t let me go,” she whispers. With a gentle shake of her head, she closes the gap between them, pressing her lips to his. She mumbles against his stilled, surprised mouth, “I don’t want you to.” 

He pulls away, barely an inch, and stares down at her, like he’s having as much trouble processing all of this as she is.

But then he surges forward, catching her mouth with his. 

Her head is already spinning. 

Ben’s thumb slides across her cheekbone, his hand engulfing her face as he holds her like he’s afraid she’ll put an end to their kiss. She’s never kissed anyone else, but as far as she can tell, he’s rather enthusiastic, overwhelming her with his lips, teeth, and tongue. 

It feels like she could drown in him.

His nose presses into her cheek as he licks into her mouth, and Rey realizes that all this time, she’s been misremembering how he kisses. She’s remembered them as fun and soft and sweet, but this is much more than that. It’s more than two hopeful, fumbling, wine-drunk, giddy people enjoying each other. Now they _know_ each other, know how much they need each other and care about each other. 

Ben breaks away from her, just for the briefest moment so he can meet her gaze with wide, confused, and astonished brown eyes. He sucks in a breath as though he can’t believe this is happening, and then his mouth is back on hers, working over her feverishly, like he’s been starved for her. 

She’s no stranger to the feeling of hunger, and the desperate way he’s kissing her is just that, so she lets him keep going. She lets him take whatever he wants. It’s his, anyway.

Her lips are swollen by the time he’s had his fill. When he pulls back, he clutches at her, his expression so soft and reverent that she almost wants to cry. When she sees the way his kiss-swollen bottom lip quivers, she _does_ tear up.

He holds her tight, like he’ll never let her go.

Rey’s pretty sure he won’t.

* * *

He stumbles backwards into the palace bedroom that’s always been reserved for him. It’s not as lived-in as his own bedroom at home, but it’s stocked with plenty of his clothing and belongings, and it’s furnished with the finest things, and Ben couldn’t give a single fuck about any of it. Not right now. Not while his mouth is latched to hers.

Rey follows along him blindly, all the way to the four-poster bed they fall back onto, a mess of lips, teeth, tongues, and hands. It’s like she melts into him, moaning softly as she does.

Ben hasn’t been able to kiss her in months, but holds her face and works over her mouth like it’s been years. He sucks at her lips, nips at them with his teeth, feathers fingertips along her jaw, and maybe it isn’t possible to pour months of _want,_ along with a dozen _I’m sorry’s_ and a million _I love you_ ’s into a kiss, but he tries, desperately.

When she settles over him, straddling his middle, and starts pulling at his clothes, Ben breaks away, catching his breath.

“Rey, we should talk. I need to tell you, I—”

“No, no talking,” she hushes with a finger to his mouth, shaking her head. Before he can reply, she takes her hands off him to pull her tunic up over her head, tossing it on the floor behind her. “Just kiss me. All of me. Please.” 

He’s too stupidly happy to argue. Propping up on his elbows, he grins, teasing, “You really _are_ good at ordering around royals, aren’t you?”

Rey sits back on him and laughs, and it’s such a carefree, beautiful sound, he swears his heart skips a beat. She curls down over him, nudging her nose to his, and asks, “Would you deny me?”

“No,” he whispers through a smile. He catches her mouth in a soft kiss, murmuring, “Never.”

She grins against his lips.

They kiss, and kiss, and kiss, until he can’t tell the two of them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for the unexpectedly long wait!

The earliest hints of a light pink and orange sunrise find them before either of them bother to sleep. It feels like a waste to sleep—how can he sleep when he could be kissing her? They lay side by side, facing each other and wrapped together, much like they sometimes sleep. Ben kisses her lazily, as though they don’t need to bother with rest, despite being tired.

She still tastes a little like the starfruit they shared after dinner, when they managed to break apart from each other for ten whole minutes because Rey’s stomach was audibly demanding food. She tastes a little like that fruit wine from that first night. When Ben realizes that, hours into kissing her and touching her, he smiles against her mouth.

“What?” Rey mumbles, but the sound is muffled by their kiss, even as she, too, grins. She catches his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging at it, and then lets it go and pulls back. Her cheeks are rosy, her mouth swollen, but she—she looks  _ so— _

“You look so happy,” he whispers, tracing the curve of her mouth with his thumb. It’s still hard to believe she could be smiling at him, be wrapped in his arms and  _ happy, _ the sort of happy that’s breathtakingly obvious in her expression.

Rey’s brows furrow. She looks at him like he’s an idiot, which is fair. 

“How could I  _ not _ be happy?” She hesitates, and gives a little shrug, “Well, maybe I’m also anxious, kind of worried, but... “ her gaze flicks to his mouth, then his eyes, and her hands grip at his chest as she whispers, “I’m happy, too.”

“I was just thinking, you—” He stops mid-sentence and frowns. “Wait, why are you anxious and worried? If it’s about the gala, we only need to make an appearance. I wouldn’t mind skipping it. We don’t even need to dance, I promise.”

Rey nestles a little closer, pressing her bare chest into his, twining her arm around his neck. “It’s not the gala. Though now that you mention it, it’s  _ partially _ the gala.” She winces. “It’s all of this. It’s the palace, the servants, the politics, the fashion,  _ everything. _ I just wish I was more proper, more educated in all this.” Her eyes drop to his chest, as though she can’t bear to say any of this to his face, which is confusing. “I’ve never felt bad about where I come from, and I don’t now, but part of me still wishes I was more like one of those women who could talk politics and not be awkward and know how to dance, and I wish I was the sort of woman you…”

He can only blink as her words trail off. “Someone I  _ what?” _

There’s a hint of sadness that settles over her expression. A hint of sadness, and a lot of longing. After a long moment, she murmurs, “Someone you loved. I hate that I wish I were different, but I’m sort of… sort of waiting for you to realize that I don’t fit in here.”

His surprised huff of laughter earns him a scowl. 

“Kriff, you don’t have to laugh at me,” she mutters, sniffling a little, and  _ oh _ if he wasn’t so happy that might break his heart.

He shakes his head, mussing up his hair against the pillow under him. “I’m not laughing at you,” he promises. “I’m laughing at  _ me,  _ and at the idea that I could ever want someone who isn’t you.”

Rey seems utterly taken aback by that, her eyes widening in surprise, and  _ wow, _ maybe his father was right. Maybe he  _ is _ a nerfherder.

“Only part of what you said has any truth to it,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers. “The rest is absurd. I should have told you before. I don’t want someone more proper, I couldn’t care less if you know how to dance. You  _ are _ the sort of woman I could love, because I  _ do _ love you. I love you just like this.”

“W—what?”

“I should have said it earlier,” he breathes. “Rey, you say you wish you could be someone I loved, but you’re already someone I love. Right now, I love you.”

Rey goes rigid in his arms and repeats, “What?”

“What?” he frowns, tilting his head back. The look on her face is one of disbelief.

She says it as though she’s confirming the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “You... love me?” 

Letting go of her, rolling over, and getting off the bed is a struggle, but it’s painful to think she might have doubts. Ben doesn’t even need time to decide whether to show her—he finds his leather bag sitting on a carved wooden desk he’s rarely used, and pushes aside his pens and bottles of ink before he finds what he’s looking for.

Ben takes in a quiet breath at the sight of the little bundle of letters. The truth is, he never expected to do anything with them. Part of him thought they might be good for tossing in a fire once Rey moved out of their apartment on Coruscant and chose to never see him again. 

It seems they’ll serve a much better purpose.

He turns back to Rey, who’s propped up on her hands, wide-eyed and frozen on the bed. Even with hair made messy by his own hands and her skin flushed and scarred, she looks like she belongs there.

For a moment, they study each other, and the seconds seem to stretch out, just like they do right before a person makes a choice that can’t be unmade. But he never wants to unmake this—this memory, this moment, this decision—so he steps toward the bed, and carefully places the folded letters on her lap without a word.

Rey doesn’t take her eyes off him, not even to look at the paper, nor the words on it.

“You love me,” she whispers instead.

With a hint of a smile, he nods, and gives a, “Yes.”

“ _ Love  _ me,” Rey repeats blankly. “I—I don’t—” she stammers. “You  _ love _ me? Actually love me?”

The laugh that comes from his mouth isn’t at her reaction, but more from the joy that comes from saying it. “Yes, Rey, I still can’t figure out how you didn’t know. But… I suppose that’s my fault.” He smiles gently at her, gesturing to the letters, “Are you even going to read them? If you don’t believe me, they’ll help.”

Her gaze drops to the small pile of paper on her lap. She swings her legs around so she’s sitting at the edge of the bed, her legs dangling over the side, not even reaching the floor. She opens the first one—the short one he wrote after talking to his father, hours before they landed on Jakku. 

Ben watches her mouth open slowly. She traces the words with her fingers.

When she speaks again, her voice is quiet and full of awe. “This whole time, you never said anything. You never told me. How was I supposed to know?”

“I thought it was obvious,” he murmurs. “Then, when I realized it wasn’t… when I realized you honestly believed I hated you, I started trying to show you how I felt.”

She hesitates, but then nods, and puts the first letter to the bottom of the pile, starting the next—the letter he wrote after leaving her in his bunk on the Falcon, after trying to find out why she hated him. The letter is sad, and desperate, which is probably why she winces as she reads it. It’s filled with hopeless apologies and a deep sense of longing he’s felt for months.

“I had no idea,” Rey breathes out. “You felt the same way, that first night?” Her voice quiets to the point where he almost can’t hear it. “I didn’t know. I wish I’d known.”

She takes a deep breath and tucks the second letter behind the first, moving on to the third—one he wrote after she fell asleep, the first night she was on Alderaan. It was hours after he saw her nearly start crying at the sight of Alderaan’s fields and lakes and mountains, and he spent the entire letter promising he’d show her more, promising he’d show her the whole galaxy if she wanted to see it. He promised to take her in the Falcon, show her everything,  _ give _ her anything.

He promised she'd never need to be alone again, not for a single moment. 

He promised her she’d have a family, that she could be part of his.

Maybe that’s why she starts tearing up and covers her mouth with her hand. Rey doesn’t read the rest. There are a dozen more, but she drops her hand from her mouth, and her gaze flicks up to him.

Her fingers curl into the blanket under her, and for what feels like ages, she stares and stares at him. And then she launches herself off the bed, faster than a jump to lightspeed. She gets to her feet, letting the letters on her lap flutter to the floor, and she grabs his face in her hands, pressing her mouth to his.

They’ve probably kissed a hundred times by now, but this feels more like a first kiss than anything else. Rey works her mouth over his, and all Ben can do is hold her, and let her take anything she needs, wants. He wants to give her everything—his heart is hers for the taking, anyway. 

She dampens his cheeks with her tears. 

Between kisses, she works out the words, “You never  _ said _ it.”

Ben tightens the arm around her waist, tugging her close. He presses his nose to her cheek, kissing her with a grin as he mumbles against her mouth, “I’ll say it every day.”

When she pulls back, it’s with a laugh. “You better.”

The smile she gives him has to be the most genuine, the most carefree, that he’s seen on her—more so even than the ones she gave while they were splashing around and laughing after her swimming lesson. 

Finally, she sighs. “Ben, those letters, they’re  _ so... _ ” 

Rey stops, her eyes getting wider as her gaze drops to the floor. They’re scattered, and she’s stepped on one in her rush to get to him. “I’m so sorry,” she says in a rush, “I should have been more careful, I should have—”

“I don’t care,” he interrupts, “I’ll write you more. I’ll write you  _ so _ many more.”

And then he kisses her again before she can argue.

* * *

_ Exhausted _ just isn’t the right word for how she feels. Rey’s tired, certainly. Anyone would be after missing a night of sleep, but she’s too relieved, too full of joy, to feel exhausted. They catch a few hours of needed rest before anyone comes to check in on them, and a few hours  _ plus _ a few cups of caf, all discreetly slid her way by Leia, are all she needs.

Splitting from Ben wasn’t something she was interested in doing, but it was tough to pass up Leia’s invitation to what the woman called a  _ ladies’ day, _ especially once Ben urged her to have fun, kissed her goodbye, and promised he’d see her at the Gala.

And maybe his family isn’t quite hers, maybe not yet, but they feel it. 

Once they have her in a lounge she hasn’t been in—one that’s set up with mirrors and has a hanging rack that’s holding their dresses—Padme and Breha politely argue over who should braid her hair. Rey laughs, playfully rolls her eyes, and beams at the affection. While the two of them try to decide, Leia cracks open a bottle of something and pours her a glass, then starts on the braid herself.

Leia’s braided her hair before, and it made her a little nervous then. The first time, Rey worried her hair would be brittle from poor nutrition and care, but it seemed that a term of stealing from her roommate’s bottles of hair product worked in her favor, because Leia braided it with ease and without comment. Now, feeling the woman’s hands in her hair is nothing but relaxing and heartwarming. 

The woman bends down, squeezing Rey’s shoulder, and she says in Rey’s ear, “I wanted to braid this myself. I hope you don’t mind. I believe my son’s been braiding a courting braid? Is that what you’d like me to put in?”

Rey’s a little lost in the comfort of having someone so close. 

Has anyone but Ben ever hugged her? 

The comforting hand on her shoulder, and the kind voice…

She wonders briefly if this is what having a  _ mom _ is like. The thought makes her eyes water, makes her sniff, which catches Leia’s attention.

“Rey? Is everything okay?”

Rey glances over her shoulder and nods. “Everything’s great,” she reassures. “Um. What other braids are there? Courting is kind of like dating, right?”

“Something like that,” Leia nods. She lets go of Rey’s hair and walks around the couch to take a seat next to her. With a hum, she says, “The braid my son’s been doing for you is appropriate for the early stages of wooing a prospective partner, if that makes sense.”

“And what are the other stages?”

Leia’s brows raise, just for a second, and a little smile plays at the corner of her mouth. She leans back and says, “Well, Alderaanian braids are interesting in that one could pick, say, a courting braid, and make small adjustments, and it could mean something very different. It could indicate the beginning of an arranged marriage, or quite a few other things, depending on what stage a relationship is at.”

She frowns. “That sounds complicated. Things on Jakku are so different—if people have binding ceremonies, it’s usually to share resources or have children.”

Leia nods. “That’s rather common on some planets.” With a sigh, she explains, “Technically, there are stages of courtship for members of the royal family, but I shook things up with Han. Arranged marriages used to be more common here.” Her smile turns wry, “But I had to go and marry a scoundrel.”

Glancing over at the Grandmothers, Rey sees them laughing and going through the dress options the two of them brought. It’s as though the two of them are having their own private conversation, so she relaxes a little.

“So, what if a relationship is more serious than early stages of wooing?” she asks hesitantly.

“Not to pry,” Leia grins, “But  _ how _ much more serious?” 

It’s impossible not to blush as Leia elbows her gently and laughs. “I’m kidding, you don’t need to tell me. But if you don’t mind, can I ask a few questions to determine what sort of braid I should do?”

Rey nods, laughing a little despite how her cheeks are burning. 

Leia’s first question takes her by surprise. “Are you happy with him?”

“Yeah,” Rey whispers. Her gaze flicks to Leia’s familiar brown eyes. “I’ve never been this happy.”

The woman’s hand lands on her forearm, giving her a gentle squeeze. “And do you love him?”

There’s no hesitation before her, “Yes.”

Leia’s expression softens. It feels a little like being studied as the woman stares at her, but Leia’s smile is full of nothing but fondness. After a long moment, she nods again. 

“Well, if I know my son—and I do, he’s hardly subtle—I know just which braid to do.”

Rey doesn’t know what the braid is, doesn’t even ask, until hours later. It seemed like a simple one that left most of her hair in soft waves around her face, and earned non-reactions, save for smiles, from the Grandmothers, so Rey assumed it was one with a mild meaning, simply suggesting a committed relationship or a great deal of affection. It’s not like anyone handed her a guide to deciphering braids, so it’s only when Ben stops short and lets his jaw drop on his way to greet her that she wonders what it indicates.

Unlike most of his family, he’s dressed in black. Black trousers, a fitted black tunic, even a somewhat dramatic black cape that flows to the floor behind him. The two of them stop in the private hallway before making any sort of entrance to the massive room that’s buzzing with hundreds of guests, and his Grandmothers and mother, all decked out in flowing dresses of jewel-tones befitting royalty, continue on, leaving them with a bit of privacy.

On her way by, Leia catches her hand, squeezes it, and then lets it go without a word.

Once they’re alone, she realizes Ben is still staring, though he’s closed his mouth. He’s a sight for sore eyes, but she’s too curious about the surprised look on his face to lean up and kiss him.

Finally, he asks, “Who braided that?”

“Your mother.” Rey winces. “Why? It’s not a betrothal one, right? Not that I’d be upset, or—I mean, not that I want to—well, actually maybe I... ”

Ben interrupts her nervous babbling with a laugh. “No, no, it’s not a betrothal braid. It doesn’t mean anything, really. Not normally.” His fingers find hers and tangle with them, and he reaches up with his other hand to brush fingertips over the braid. “It’s a simple one, a waterfall-style. It isn’t a braid that indicates a relationship. This isn’t an official Alderaanian braid, it’s just a casual style my mother and grandmothers like. ”

“Oh.” She tilts her head curiously. “So what’s with your reaction?”

His throat bobs. “As far as I know, it’s only worn by members of the House of Organa. It doesn’t usually make a statement, but if my mother’s braided this for you…” His mouth curls. “I think it means she considers you part of the family. It means… it means she assumes you  _ will _ be made part of the family.”

Ben says it in a whisper, with so much longing in his eyes that it feels like her heart stops. He gets a little closer, taking her with hands at her waist, and he sighs as he nestles his face into the side of her head.

The doors to the Grand Ballroom must open, because she hears the distant sound of the music and chattering of the crowd gathered, waiting for them down the hall.

“Would you rather not go?” he asks softly. “You look beautiful, and I think we’d have fun, but if you’d prefer—”

“I’d love to attend,” Rey interrupts. She squeezes his hand.

He nods, pressing his mouth to her temple in a brief kiss. “Not that I mind, but you know if people see that braid, they’ll assume things.”

After a long breath, she feels an unprecedented amount of  _ right _ that comes with her response.

“Let them,” she murmurs, grinning up at him. “They’ll be right.” 

Ben huffs in disbelief.

When he kisses her, it’s less of a kiss, and more like two people pressing their smiles together… just like their first.

* * *

Four Standard Months Later

Entering Alderaan’s atmosphere never gets old. Not even after decades. Whether it’s because he’ll never get tired of coming home to Leia (though he prefers the trips when she joins him), or whether it’s because Alderaan’s the prettiest planet he’s seen, it just never gets old. 

It seems like Rey agrees with him, too, because she mutters to Ben, “Just, shut up a minute, yeah?” and then uses the back of his co-pilot’s seat as something to hold on to when she looks out at the spreading greens and deep blues of the lakes they fly over. In the same disbelieving tone Han’s used himself a dozen or more times, she says, “I still can’t believe this place is real.”

“That won’t change,” he laughs. “Trust me, kid. You’re going to spend a long time saying that.”

Next to him, his idiot son tries to say, “Sure, it’s beautiful, but I think you’d like—”

“Shhh,” Rey interrupts. “Don’t ruin it.”

“You would  _ love _ Bespin, Rey, I—”

“Shush. I’m enjoying the view.” 

Han quirks an eyebrow at his son, who sighs despondently and gives up, then glances out as they approach their usual landing spot. He has to hold back a laugh at just how familiar their little squabble has felt.

The two of them go right back to arguing as soon as they land, so Han walks off toward the house, laughing his ass off the moment he’s out of earshot. It was a quick trip to Coruscant to pick the two of them up once their final term was over, and even though he’s only spent a couple days from Leia, it’s been too long. She woke early the morning he left to get to the palace for yet another meeting with her mother—they’ve been transferring all the Queenly duties to Leia, and his mother-in-law’s done a hell of a job making the palace seem like an appealing home for them once Ben’s ready to settle into Leia’s senatorial job. At least if they lived at the palace, he’d get to have more breakfasts with his wife.

It’s a lot of change for all of them, Ben and Rey included, but as Han approaches the house and sees her waiting there in the doorway, her graying hair down, arms crossed, smile wide… he thinks they’ll be just fine. 

“What’s going on with those two?” she laughs, gesturing at the morons who’ve come off the Falcon. “They were nauseating at their graduation, what happened?”

When he glances back at them, they’re clearly still arguing. Rey’s got her arms folded over her chest, tapping her foot and scowling. Han’s a little surprised by how brave his son must be to argue with  _ that _ expression. 

Han rolls his eyes. He turns, greets her with a kiss to the side of her head, and gives a quiet laugh. “Would you believe they’re just trying to decide which planet to see first?”

Dryly, Leia says, “You’re kidding.”

“I’ve listened to it for over an hour, sweetheart. Sounds like Rey was nervous to jump right into things here, and uh, your son’s a bit of a romantic, I think.” Then, lower, “Says he wants to show her the galaxy. So, they’re going on a trip."

“Oh are they?” Leia asks, eyebrows raised. She smiles gently. “How sweet. Let me guess, he’s taking the Falcon?”

He shrugs. Part of him’s nervous, of course, that the ship’ll get scratched up, but he’s taught Ben pretty well, and Rey’s a decent pilot, too. “I offered. Now that she’s all fixed up, they should be okay.”

“Of course you offered, you old softie,” she laughs. She leans against him, glancing at where the kids are talking heatedly. “Do we know how long they’ll be gone?”

“They talked about being back in time for the blossom festival. Rey wants to see it. So, a few standard months?” He hugs Leia from behind as they see the two come to some sort of agreement. His son grins, and Rey nods rapidly, then jumps on him, letting him swing her around.

Leia gives a quiet, “Aww. Looks like they figured it out. Which planets were they arguing over, anyway?”

“Mm, I think Ben was interested in Bespin first, and she was hoping for Naboo.”

“ _ Naboo,  _ well, Padme will be thrilled, whenever they make it there.” 

He snorts, muttering into the side of her head. “Ten credits says they come back married.”

Her head drops back to his shoulder as she laughs loudly. “No bet! He’s  _ our  _ son and I’m sure Rey has little interest in a formal wedding. Of  _ course _ they’ll elope.”

Their laughs quiet down after a minute, and they’re left in each other’s arms, staring out at Alderaan. What he first told Rey comes to mind, and it’s probably one of the most honest things he’s said—he’s seen a lot of planets, a lot of good ones and a lot of bad ones, but this one, this quiet, peaceful little planet, is one of the best. 

Maybe that’s just because it’s home, but it’s still true. 

“You know, I was scared there for a while,” he finally says. “Was scared you and I wouldn’t work out and we’d go back to what we were good at, and Ben would grow up alone, wouldn’t know we love him. Remember all those nights when he was still in you, when I couldn’t sleep?” His throat bobs. “Even when he was a kid, I had dreams like that. Dreams where we messed up, and he didn’t know we loved him, and he grew up alone and angry and sad. I was so scared that would happen.”

Leia turns in his arms, twining hers around his neck. She shakes her head. “Impossible. We did do what we were good at—loving each other, and loving Ben.” Softly, she adds, “You’re the best father he could have had.”

Han sniffs, and says gruffly, “Well, you’re a pretty good mom, princess. I guess we did okay.”

“Yeah Han,” she sighs. She leans in, resting against him in a hug. “I think we did.”

“I love you, you know.”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “I know.”

“You think  _ he _ knows?” Han nods to Ben.

“He knows,” she reassures.

“Mm. Good. Maybe I’ll go remind—“

“Don’t you dare interrupt those two!” she laughs. “If we’re lucky and we leave them out there long enough, they’ll come back engaged.”

Lowly, he asks, “You didn’t notice the new braid, did you?”

Leia gasps, glancing back to get a good look at where Rey and Ben are still talking by the Falcon. “Is that a  _ betrothal braid?” _

“Yep,” he nods, grinning. “Kid smartened up.”

She sighs happily. “I’m so glad. They have  _ such _ a bright future.”

“Well, things worked out okay for a scoundrel and a princess. ‘Least  _ I _ think so.” Leia gazes up at him, her expression going soft, and he adds, “Maybe a scavenger and a prince will be okay, too, hm?”

A hint of a smile touches at her mouth. “I think we’re all more than okay,” she murmurs. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he sighs, looking down into the warm brown eyes that make this planet home. “Me, too. I think we’ll all be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sappiness, but ever since I've loved Star Wars, I've been in love with the story of a princess who could be both strong and vulnerable, and still get the happy ending she wanted with a scoundrel, and not the ending someone else wanted for her. I guess what I love about Star Wars hasn’t really changed.
> 
> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


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